Overture
by WhittakerTM
Summary: The uncertain beginnings of Tony and Michelle.
1. Chapter 1

Overture

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><p>'Tony.'<p>

'Yep. What?'

'The new IP Manager is here.'

'Uh-huh.'

He dropped his phone haphazardly back onto its receiver, his gaze having never left his computer screen or the list of immigration processing upgrades NSA had sent him. They wanted the LA branch's analysis and sign off on the upgrades by tomorrow, and Tony could feel himself growing increasingly tense as the minutes flickered past. He only had a few hours left to wade through this very tedious and time consuming chore, and, though he knew it'd be a stretch, finishing it felt just within the realm of possibility – provided no one interrupted him and no new threats decided to rear their ugly heads between now and when the night shift came in.

_Shift_. He supressed a cold grimace at the word "shift". The few young analysts who came in at night to monitor the light incoming flow of intelligence were hardly real CTU agents. Their only purpose was just to keep an eye on things in case an active code came in at three in the morning, at which point they were trained to do absolutely nothing more than call in the day shift, the _real_ shift.

Tony hovered over one of the new cross-referencing protocols NSA was just itching to implement when the phone rang again.

'Almeida?'

'Tony,' came George's voice, flagrantly derisive. 'The new IP Manager is here.'

'Yep. Heard you the first time.'

'Yah, Tony, IP Manager means the position directly beneath yours,' he explained, hardly patient in any respect. 'That means she's your problem.'

'She's not my problem,' he corrected. 'I'm busy doing the –'

'The NSA thing, yeah I know,' George said. 'But what I'm doing is more important, so go meet her, bring her in, show her around and be – I don't know – nice or something.'

'I didn't hire her,' Tony said stubbornly. 'That means she's your problem.'

He wondered if he had any sort of reasonable right to feel vaguely annoyed over the fact that he'd been cast out during the hiring process. George, Hammond and Chapelle had commenced the whole lengthy procedure from over at division several weeks ago, and Tony had been kept firmly out of the loop. Thrilled as he'd indubitably been to escape the extended company of the three men, he couldn't help but feel mildly chagrined. George could stay holed up in his office if he so pleased, as could Chappelle and Hammond, but Tony's position demanded that he exhibit a more hands on approach with the rest of the staff. Shouldn't that at least loan him some, if only minor, control over the choice of people who comprised it? Apparently not.

'You're gonna help me weed out a new systems analyst,' George said, as though he knew exactly what Tony was thinking. 'Will that make you feel better?'

The fact that George was well aware of his irritation at being left out failed to thrill him. He did not want his boss to form the opinion that he was some childish egotistical upstart (if he hadn't already) and this highly undesirable prospect alone was enough to cajole the slight twinge deep in his head into becoming a full blown headache, the likes of which sat in the front of his skull and thudded nastily.

'I don't care, George,' he said, in what he dearly hoped was a very blasé tone.

'Of course you don't. The IP Manager is still waiting. Her name's Michelle Dessler. Chop chop.'

The click in his ear signalled the end of the exchange upon which he let out an aggravated growl under his breath and shoved himself out of his chair. He wanted to be left alone. Really, that's all he wanted. In life both at home and at work. He'd withdrawn into himself in almost irreversible ways in the last few months. He hadn't seen friends, not that he had loads, hadn't spent any serious time in the company of his younger brother, hadn't much bothered to phone his parents in Chicago. He knew he couldn't be a barrel of laughs to work with either, not that he'd really been before …

After that day…well, things hadn't been great. He wasn't a heartbroken man, he wasn't upset, nor did he feel a massive all-consuming sense of betrayal…it was more the guilt that was getting to him. If only he'd noticed something…if only he'd been more alert, or more receptive to the signs…had there been signs? He didn't really know. All he did know was that Jack's wife could've been saved if only he'd taken the time to look properly at the woman he was sleeping with. Then again, she'd fooled them all.

He couldn't remain violently furious at himself for too much longer. But he was. That was the problem. He was furious. And he wanted to stay that way. Fury helped right now. It helped him look past women altogether. It helped him remember the kind of deceit they were capable of. Not all of them. He wasn't generalising… at least, one day he wouldn't. Right now, it was easier that way.

Hell, it wasn't as though he'd had innumerable exquisite experiences with women. The two leggy girls he'd "dated" in high school had been pretty cold. Of course, looking back now he knew they'd just been young, as inexperienced as he, and self-conscious; all the things that had made them come across as aloof and disinterested. He'd routinely see them at parties, where he'd go outside in the dark with them and mess around until their parents came by to pick them up, usually well before midnight. Then he'd proceed to send them slightly hangdog grins at school until the next party came round. It suited him, but apparently not them, as the first soon turned her attention onto a guy in the grade below without telling him and the second upped and moved to Ohio with her family, again without telling him.

After an array of sloppy one night stands in college, he mellowed into the dating process with an overconfident sandy blonde. She bailed on their relationship a few months after he joined the marines. A career as a soldier was not what she had expected him to choose and Tony shrewdly assumed she'd unconsciously been hoping for some corporate number who practically slept in a suit to become her spouse. It hadn't hurt too much to lose her. She had been the kind of person who ironed her bed sheets.

He'd dated a very tanned girl five years his senior while he'd worked at the Transmeta Corporation but it reached a natural end fairly quickly. It was around this time he took up with a woman with freckles and sleek black hair who worked downstairs. He'd enjoyed her greatly, but she annulled their relationship once he got the job at CTU. She'd been exceptionally ambitious, and his good fortune seemed to annoy her. When she turned tail he had seriously lamented the loss, something he expected to have bothered him but didn't. The girl had been great in bed. Spectacular, really. He was well within his rights to lament that.

Then he'd had a two week fling with a woman his brother shoved his way, but he stopped calling her after that. He wasn't sure what it was, but something about her really annoyed him. Her voice, possibly? Or the way it never ceased? Something.

Then Nina. If possible, the ache in his skull intensified with the thought. A big part of him went into the relationship for almost no other reason than to get one over Jack, a way of asserting his own sort of authority or male-ish dominance, something that was stifled at work. He rubbed hard at his eyes. Maybe the opinion George was no doubt currently building of him was accurate. Maybe he _was_ a childish egotistical upstart. He didn't want to admit it but it _did_ explain his time with Nina. It was entirely possible that if Jack hadn't had a history with her, Tony probably wouldn't either. Unfortunately, Jack had once publicly shot him down in a department meeting, and, less than an hour later, he'd suddenly found Nina somewhat alluring. Even during their relationship, he'd subconsciously added her to his collection of reticent lovers. What was it about him that attracted these cold, composed women? He'd never minded before, in fact, he'd almost liked it. He'd found it a little hot.

It had been months since that day, the day Terri Bauer had been murdered, and Jack was gone. CTU had lost a lot of people, some had transferred away from the madness, others had been relocated, some had been killed. It was a different place, but Tony didn't mind. He didn't want camaraderie or friendship at work. He just wanted to do his job. He wanted to do it as well as he could in the vain hope that if he saved enough lives or eradicated enough danger it might just cancel out the poison that had been that day.

Now, they were still hiring in, still upgrading the place, and Tony was delegated the glamorous task of shepherding in new arrivals. He stalked to the doors, turned the corner and made his way to the security station in the corridor, acknowledging the guard with a dismissive nod of his head. He then glanced at the new woman. Melissa? Whatever.

'Hi,' he said hastily, fully aware that he was still losing precious time on the NSA thing. 'Name's Tony Almeida. Follow me please.'

He turned on his heel and strode back into the office, not even bothering to check if she was following him or not.

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><p><em>Reviews are opium<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Happy birthday to AlmeidaLuvin! Chapter Two's a pressie for you._

For a moment Michelle did nothing except watch Tony Almeida march away, feeling slightly stunned. She didn't know him personally, but she'd heard his name before a few times. If you worked at District long enough, you heard just about everyone's name in passing, even from external units. She didn't know much about him. He'd had some sort of thing with the Myers traitor, and was generally brusque by nature. Not a lot of people liked him. Oh, and he was rude. She'd just learnt that one for herself.

She frowned at his back and followed him, keeping the clack of her heels as understated as possible as she passed through the doors, not really of a mind to draw mass attention to herself for any reason. She hated first days. She hated the usual feelings of awkwardness and incompetence that went along with them. Still, she had to make this work. She had to get as far away from division as quickly as possible and this would do nicely. She felt her shoulders sag slightly. It was all still so fresh in her mind, the debacle with Carrie, her brother's suicide attempt, her coinciding break up with a boyfriend of over a year. She wasn't certain she'd ever experienced months as bad as the last few had been. And Danny's dilemma fell to her, purely because she had been the one to introduce him to Carrie, and because they had no other relatives to speak of. It was just her and her big brother, and she had to look after him. She shuddered slightly, remembering the awful day only a few weeks ago when she'd found him in his apartment…and then sitting by his side at hospital, listening to him babble on about wanting to die. It had nearly destroyed her.

She shook herself slightly. None of those thoughts today. Not when she needed to be focused, to make a halfway decent impression. She really did need this job.

'Is George Mason here?' she inquired to the back of Tony Almeida's head. 'I was expecting him...'

'He's busy,' was the brush-off answer. 'He's busy all the time, you won't see much of him. I'm gonna get you set up. They've trained you, right?'

Michelle followed him to the rows of computers in the bullpen, seriously hoping both their positions required them to work at opposite ends of the building. This man was inexcusably insolent. She was brand new, and he was treating her like she'd done something to personally offend him. Would a little consideration hurt? She'd been plonked in a department practically bursting with rude, micro-managing colleagues at division. Was she truly going to endure more of that here? It had been exhausting on a daily basis.

'Of course,' she answered him. 'I wouldn't be here otherwise.'

He stopped suddenly at a computer.

'This is the IP Manager's station,' he said. He still hadn't offered her any eye contact. In fact, he'd barely glanced at her at all. 'They've sent some archive material over for you to familiarise yourself with, and then some analysis work. We're having a slow day, so you shouldn't have any trouble getting through it. You're entitled to a half hour lunch break at twelve thirty, and the coffee room is down that hall. Any briefings or meetings you're required to attend will come up in an alert on your screen. Get to know the other IP analysts. You're managing that department.'

'Yes,' she said. 'I know.'

He turned to look at her properly for the first time. She gazed back, wondering if he could feel the disdain for his treatment of her radiating off the surface of her skin.

'Right,' he said. 'Well, that's about it…uh…'

'Michelle,' she supplied. Against her better judgement, she held out her hand, wondering if he would refuse it. He seemed to consider the idea, but then shook it swiftly, looking remarkably dispassionate.

'Yeah,' he said, and walked off. She watched him go, and felt disappointment sweep through her when she saw him drop into a chair directly facing her station, mere metres away. She turned back and sat down at her own, straight backed and composed. She placed her bag in a drawer, switched on her new computer and immediately found the archives he had mentioned.

From his own station, Tony watched her, once again feeling aggravated at being left out during the hiring process. If they'd consulted him, this girl wouldn't have been selected. She undoubtedly had a bit of a proficiency act going, as though she was quite aware of her skills and strengths and didn't enjoy being questioned about her training. He didn't like that. New people with attitudes irritated him. New people with haughty, over-competent attitudes irritated him a lot.

He frowned at her as her eyes scanned her screen. And what was with the curls? Women didn't have curly hair anymore. Those hair ironing things had taken care of that, and now girls everywhere had creaseless, perfect waves of long straight hair. The ungodly bird's nest resting atop this woman's head was a bit of an affront, particularly for a man who generally had a thing for sleek haired women. He wondered why she didn't do something about it. It was a bit much…and though she'd pinned it back it was still a bit too messy for work. He wrinkled his nose. Curls were odd. Not hot, either, and he thought she was altogether a bit misfortunate for it.

As he studied her side-on she chewed her lip, and then he realised what he found so odd about her. Her face. There was something going on there. Something weird with the eyes…or the nose. He wasn't sure. But with the unlucky hair thrown in, this woman looked like a fucking fairy. She dead set looked like an over-illustrated imp in a girls' picture book, with excessively syrupy features just to get the message across. It really wasn't sexy in the slightest.

Good, he thought. It would have been a problem if she'd been hot. He hadn't been worried about her qualifications or her aptitude for the job (they simply wouldn't have hired her if she wasn't up to it) but he had been quite concerned that she might turn out to be some graceful blonde goddess with high cheekbones and sky-blue eyes, brought in just to tempt his powers of restraint. Well, he might not like the new woman, but at least she presented zero need for restraint at all.

Throughout the course of the day, Tony occasionally caught himself considering her. He'd lift his gaze and look at her, take in her bizarre hair and face, plus her innate need to flaunt her level of expertise, and he'd wrinkle his nose again. Then, at some point late in the afternoon, he looked up from the NSA thing just in time to catch her hand go up to smooth down her hair. He blinked, and then looked away as quickly as possible. She didn't have much going for her, but she did have nice hands. He at least had to give her that.

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><p><em>Opium is always muchly appreciated.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a month and she'd settled in. More or less. Probably more, because Tony found himself noticing it. She'd formed fairly polite friendships with the people in her department, and managed them well. So far, no one had complained about her and the work she did was exemplary. She seemed to attack incoming threats with a kind of vivacity Tony hadn't really seen before, as though she couldn't help but defend her country to the best of her ability. She was quite an asset. Even George had commented.

So now, it was well after five. The night (ahem) shift had arrived and taken themselves to their more secluded stations, and he was the last of the day shift left. He and Michelle. He didn't know what she was doing, but she was pretty engrossed in it. Probably managerial stuff, things that were bumped to the end of the day if any hot intel came in, which it had, prompting her to run flat out from the moment she'd arrived. He watched her from his station, annoyingly situated in a way that made it only too easy to lift his gaze and look directly at her. She never looked at him. She only ever looked at her screen.

He was digging through some of his own managerial rubbish, things George had ungraciously thrown his way before he left, and he couldn't help but feel highly aware of the fact that it was just him and her…there together. Should he say something? Make some friendly comment? He didn't want her to get the wrong idea though. He didn't want her to think he would then be friendly all the time. Because he wouldn't be. He didn't want friends at work. He knew that.

Plus, there was something about her. It had been weighing on him, prodding at him since her first day. He hadn't been able to wipe his mind properly clean of her. Maybe it was the way she brushed him off just as adeptly as he did her? He wasn't quite used to that. Normally, people were quite perturbed by him, especially lately. They worried over his dislike of them, wondered why he wasn't friendly and asked themselves if they had done something wrong. He didn't like playing with people. He did it out of necessity, not for fun. He also knew what to expect from the receiver…and she hadn't given it to him.

It seemed, after their first quick exchange, that she almost couldn't see him. She took orders from him, and listened to him in meetings, and gave an affirmative or negative answer when he asked her questions, but other than that she gave him nothing. And he couldn't read her. It bothered him. Maybe she just didn't care. Maybe she was there to do her job, and making friends wasn't a part of the plan. Snappy bosses didn't faze her. Rude colleagues hardly registered on her radar. Maybe she cared as little for him and he did for her.

But…he wasn't entirely certain that was true anymore. Why else would she sit constantly in his mind? She _did_ annoy him. He was well aware of that, but lots of people annoyed him and they didn't hover in his head the way she did. He narrowed his eyes as he glanced at her again.

She was wearing one of her usual black skirts, and some fitted beige shirt. It wasn't the most enthralling combination ever, he thought. Then he resisted the urge to smack his own head. It wasn't enthralling, but why should it be? Why? With increasing frequency over the last month Tony had found himself looking up at her, taking in her clothes and general appearance, and then giving himself a moment to properly consider just how unsexy it all was. But why? He didn't do it to any of the other women. Not even the meek, bespectacled redhead in IT who wore sneakers to work.

Just her. Then, it made sense. It was just because she was there. Because she sat directly across from him and he had no other choice than to appraise her several dozen times a day. That was all.

And that hair. He still couldn't get over it. He felt like leaving a voucher for a hair straightener on her desk for her to find one day. Maybe then she'd take the hint. It wasn't the eighties anymore, or the nineties, or whenever it was when hair that ridiculous had been acceptable. There was simply no reason for a woman to have hair like that anymore.

Suddenly, he heard her phone ring, and looked up to watch her hand part company with her keyboard to answer it.

'Dessler,' she murmured quietly, as though only just realising she wasn't alone in the bullpen. She said nothing for a moment before 'Danny, what do you mean? Well, I'm still at work, just finishing some things up. What? No, I'm not…oh….I am late. I didn't realise. I'm so sorry. Alright, alright, I'm leaving now. I'll be over soon, okay? Want me to bring anything? Okay, I will.'

Tony hurriedly looked back at his screen as she ended the call. He hadn't known she had a boyfriend. He probably would've if he'd ever talked to her beyond the curt orders he hurled her way, but he hadn't, so…

He wasn't sure why this revelation about her annoyed him, and he sat very still, trying to understand it. She wasn't his type. She wasn't his type in the slightest. She wasn't leggy, or busty, or any of the other things he enjoyed. And that hair…still, some man obviously liked it. Some man obviously liked all of her, enough to call her and find out why she was at work instead of at his place.

'Tony?'

He jumped slightly, his head jerking up. He hadn't noticed her get up from her chair, or come over to his station. Now she was standing on the other side of his desk, her handbag under her arm, watching him with a very peculiar expression…almost suspicious.

'Uh, yeah?' He fixed his eyes upon her, trying to look as though he'd been thinking about terrorists and bombs and anything other than her.

'Just leaving for the night,' she explained, suddenly looking a touch self-conscious. He blinked. Self-conscious? That couldn't be right. She never looked anything less than utterly unruffled.

'Uh, okay,' he said, neatening the contents of a folder in front of him. He watched her gaze slink down to his hands and their slightly uncontrolled movements for a moment. Did he just imagine the slight narrowing of her eyes, or was she actually clued in to the sudden unbecoming tension he felt at her closeness?

'Well, good night,' she eventually said to him.

'Yeah,' he said, as she turned away. 'Night.'

He really couldn't believe how much he enjoyed watching the slight sway of her hips as she walked away, nor could he fathom just how oddly bare the bullpen felt now that she'd left it.

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	4. Chapter 4

Michelle watched him from across the bullpen, free to survey him with his back turned, his eyes and mind on the file in his hand.

So her immediate boss wasn't a good guy. No big deal. George Mason was fine, even if he was consistently irreverent, but Tony Almeida was far harder to make excuses for. He didn't really like her. That much was clear. He didn't really like anyone though, so her initial offense at his unfriendly ways had faltered slightly over the course of the last few months.

He was good at his job. That much was very clear to her. He didn't hold his position for no reason, calmly and incisively running tactical during missions and reviewing extremist files with a very keen eye for detail. She'd watched him tease the truth out of suspects in a matter of hours instead of days and she'd studied him as he devised slightly unorthodox search methods, both for intelligence and field ops, which normally yielded notable results. He knew what he was doing, and both his marines training and his years of experience gave him a certain edge. He was difficult to work for, but the management heads at division obviously didn't care. How could they, with the successes he gave them?

Michelle realised she was intimated by him. Impressed? No, not quite. After all, she'd met extremely capable and diligent agents before who did their jobs as well as he did. But she _was_ intimidated. Whenever she delivered material to him she had a feeling he scrutinised it carefully, and then scrutinised her for putting it together. Did he think her work was below standard? Average? Better than expected? And if he did why didn't he just come out with it, instead of making her wonder?

When she rattled off some facts or relayed a message to him, he watched her, his dark eyes taking her in bit by bit it seemed, as though he was forming new conclusions about her every day. She hated to admit it, but it got to her. His silence and impassiveness toward her got under her skin. Did he like her less than everyone else? More? What exactly?

What bothered her even more was that she was beginning to care. At the start she hadn't. She had shrugged her shoulders and gotten on with her work, choosing to avoid him if she could, trying not to sit next to him in meetings or linger in the same room, figuring that if a rude superior was the worst that happened in this job then she was doing well for herself. Things with Danny had been leeching all her attention and that burden on her life had made her regard Tony Almeida as a very small problem. But now, things with Danny had settled slightly, Carrie was out of the picture and the sting of her last breakup was becoming a distant memory, and she found she had more time and energy to wonder about Almeida.

His back was still turned to her, working assiduously on something she probably didn't have clearance for. Her eyes ran the length of his body. He was in his usual garb, a black suit, wrinkled slightly, with the jacket off and flung over his chair, and the sleeves of his grey shirt rolled up to his elbows. She couldn't see it, but she knew his top button was undone, the tiniest hint of dark chest hair peeking out on most days.

She hadn't given much thought to him in that way, hadn't really considered whether he was attractive or not. CTU hadn't had enough quiet days for that sort of thing…but they were having a quiet day today so…

He wasn't really. Not to her, at least. Then again, she wasn't blind. She knew he was dark and handsome and all the things women went for…but she didn't really go for men like that. Not normally. But then, did she really know what sort of man she liked? She'd had plenty of experience with boys…but not men. Men were different.

In high school she'd dated a gangly kid with lank blonde hair, and in college she'd flitted around bars with her pretty friends and had enjoyed numerous dates and trysts with boys then too, some lasting longer than others, some even winning the term of "boyfriend". Things had gone a bit quiet since her frenzied years at college, and the last boyfriend had been her first real long term relationship, albeit a slightly flat one. It had been oddly formal, and a little forced…though she hadn't realised it then. At the time, she'd thought it was exceptionally normal, exactly how a relationship was meant to be, and she'd enjoyed it for what it was. He, like the ones before him, had been a happy-go-lucky sort of guy, who didn't have an aggressive or brutish bone in his body, and had, after a few weeks, fallen into the habit of treating her like a buddy instead of a lover without her even realising it. She hadn't minded. In fact, she'd never minded any of her mild-mannered boys and their cheery ways. They made for easy conversation and easier company, and the sex, considerate and vaguely apologetic in nature, was always fine by her. She tapped the edge of her keyboard for a moment, wondering if she was now at the age when boys were longer an option. She didn't know at what age boys became men. Certainly not eighteen. Thirty maybe? She suddenly realised she'd never been with anyone over twenty eight…

She gave herself a small shrug and couldn't imagine why thinking about Tony Almeida had caused her to re-evaluate her entire dating life. She just didn't see him that way. She didn't even go for darker men. That wasn't a conscious decision she'd made, but her track record showed certain patterns. She wasn't sure she believed in types, but wiry men with big smiles and light hair peppered her past.

Plus, Tony's arrogance turned her off in a big way. His stoic, hawkish glare did nothing for her either, and his low, whispered voice made instructions hard to hear. She wondered if it was an act or if his demeanour was long standing and simply had no cure. How could someone be so belligerent and detached all the time? Wasn't it exhausting? Not to mention unprofessional?

'Michelle?'

She looked up. Tony was by her station. He was wearing his usual grim expression.

'I'm going to need you to work this thread up,' he said, sliding a file to the in-tray by her system. 'We took in new leads this morning on a radical cell originating in LA, but it's early days, so there mightn't be much to find. And keep it to yourself. It's level five clearance.'

He turned to go.

'But I don't have level five,' she explained before he strode away. He looked back at her.

'Yeah, I know. Still, I need you to do it. Just don't flash it around, and if Chapelle comes in burn it or eat it or something.'

'I…alright,' she said.

'Good,' he replied, and stalked off.

Michelle opened the file, feeling her brow furrow slightly. Level five? She was barely scraping level four. She glanced at Tony. He was already back to work, looking buried in his own tasks and intel. It was against the rules to give this to her…should she read into that? Was he simply too busy to be able to do it himself? Or did he trust her? Maybe he thought she was capable of finding something he wasn't…

Three hours later, Michelle had comprised a detailed work up, had saved it, sent it to his system, and had promptly grabbed her empty coffee cup. She desperately needed a break, her eyes growing tired and blurry from her screen, and took herself quickly to the break room down the hall.

She filled her cup and sipped it quickly, rubbing her eyes as she leant against the counter, wondering if Danny was going to ring her and demand her company tonight, or bully her into bringing something over for dinner. She hoped not. She needed some time to herself.

It was then that she felt someone behind her, and she turned to see Tony standing a few feet away. She blinked at him for a moment, wondering how long he'd been in the break room. Had…had he been watching her?

'Did you finish the work up?' he asked after a weirdly uncomfortable moment.

'Yes, I've sent it to your system.'

He nodded. He didn't thank her, but she knew he wouldn't. He stood there for a moment longer, staring at the counter.

'My…uh…my cup,' he said, indicating to his mug which was positioned on the drying rack, awkwardly blocked by Michelle's body.

'Oh,' she said.

He snaked his arm around her to reach for it at the same moment she stepped sideways to get out of the way. The unfortunate result was a complete disregard for personal space, both of them now standing within inches and both highly aware of it. This wouldn't have ordinarily been a problem with anyone else. Michelle would have stepped away, apologised, and that would have been that. Except now…Tony was looking at her. Glaring at her really, but up close for the first time, and she, for some inane reason, looked back. His eyes were dark…was it just the lighting or were they darker from this reduced distance?

They were breathing the same air, and, knowing she would curse herself for it later but also knowing she couldn't help it, her eyes flickered to his mouth. It was only for a split second, but in that time she realised how nice it was. Almost tantalising or something. And his eyes…they were so dark and…the way he was glaring at her...he'd never glared at her like this before.

In a flash she stepped away – right away – taking her coffee with her to the door and tucking a curl behind her ear. She was sincerely glad Tony didn't know her very well, otherwise he would've picked up on her tell. Tucking her hair behind her ear was something she did when she was nervous or embarrassed, something she really couldn't help, and it was one of her most obvious and humiliating traits.

'Let me know if there are any problems with the work up,' she muttered, feeling flushed and hating it. She walked away, wondering if she'd just imagined what had happened between them. Perhaps the tension was one sided…perhaps he was just looking at her, waiting for her to move away so he could make his coffee and wondering why the hell she didn't. Feeling like a jittery fool, she settled back at her station, allowing herself a deep breath in and out, and making a mental note to avoid the little break room forever.

Tony stayed where he was by the kettle for a moment, his mug in hand. He hadn't filled it yet. To be honest, he'd almost forgotten that he wanted coffee.

What the _hell _had just happened? He scratched at his face, feeling as though the last minute of his life had been nothing but a giant raging assault on the senses. An assault made by Michelle Dessler. _Michelle Dessler?_

The whole day so far had been swallowed up by her and she didn't even know it. She'd come to work in a skirt that fit snug around her hips and a dark red blouse that accentuated her breasts, mostly unintentionally, and he'd found himself gazing disapprovingly at her. Red wasn't really a CTU colour. He knew that made no sense, but this was a place of business. Very serious business. In the same way that no one wore pink, or pastel blue, or sunflower yellow, red was a bit too colourful. Then again, it was a very professional looking outfit, and the red was understated, and maybe he was just being an asshole.

Then, he'd given her the work-up to do. He shouldn't have, but he needed to get to the bottom of the situation with these new radicals and she was the best way to get there. He didn't know what it was exactly, but she had some special way of doing things. She looked in places he never normally even considered, and found information that frankly stunned him. She was good and he couldn't pass her by, not for something so important. He'd been happy that she accepted. Up until then, he hadn't known where she stood with rules. Was she by the book? Or was she willing to gently push the rules aside if they got in the way? He was glad it was the latter.

He hadn't followed her into the break room on purpose, in fact, the moment he'd spotted her against the counter with her own coffee he'd almost turned away. He didn't love being around her, and the break room screamed small talk, which he did not want to engage in. Still though, he needed coffee. Badly enough to hover behind her and wait for her to notice him and move. Which she had, but not before the terrifically awkward moment in which he'd reached out and she'd shifted aside and they'd almost bumped right into each other. Then, he'd looked at her, her face inches away, only to find her looking at him, and well…fuck.

It had started with her eyes. They'd latched onto his, and he found he couldn't look away. They weren't a usual shape, something he'd already noticed, but now…now they were more than that. They were dark, warm and highly mesmerising. Mesmerising? They were only mesmerising because she'd been so close. Everything was mesmerising up close.

Then her nose struck him. It was so little and sweet and…why did he want to kiss it? What a ridiculous thing to want to do to someone. He could not remember ever having the urge to kiss a woman's nose before.

Then, her eyes had left his for a second, in which time he stole a glance down at her lips. If she hadn't moved away he would've looked at them all afternoon. He wouldn't have wanted to but it was beyond his control. Her lips were beautiful. They were full, and incalculably pretty and soft looking and he wondered what they tasted like, or what they would feel like beneath his own mouth or under his tongue.

Her cheeks and neck had caught the light of the room as she moved away, and he realised how flawless her skin was. Pale and smooth and perfect, begging to be touched, and he'd felt his hands twitch slightly.

He felt as though he'd been hit by a bolt of lightning. Only yesterday she'd been Dessler, the woman with odd hair and unsexy clothes and now…now it was a different thing entirely. Why had he fooled himself for so long?

He'd watched her walk away, the red shirt hugging her waist, and he felt as though red had never looked so good on anyone before. Forget wearing serious clothes…red was outstanding on her. Her skirt had swished around her hips and legs, and he'd glanced at her bare calves, just as smooth as the rest of her, just as suddenly delicious looking as every other part. He reflected on her curves for a moment, having never done so before. They were hot. So hot. He wanted her against him, wanted to clutch at her, stroke her, hold her tight. She was petite and soft and for an instant it had rendered him breathless.

She'd said something to him at the door, what he couldn't say, and had taken herself back to her station, but not before making her final attack on him and his previous opinion of her looks. Up until that moment she'd just been the slightly annoying colleague who niggled in his mind and took up brain power, but now…now she was attractive. Strikingly so. She no longer looked like a pixie, nor had she ever, Tony realised. Her features weren't actually sickly sweet and she didn't have a proficiency act going. Her face was utterly feminine, her eyes big, heavy and arousing, her mouth quite possibly the most tempting thing he'd ever looked at before. She wasn't leggy or busty, but so what? Why was that so sexy? _This_…this was sexy. This was beautiful. She was clever and small and pretty and he wanted to gather her in his arms and …oh god. This was out of control. It was just because he'd been celibate since Nina…that was the only reason Michelle Dessler had come under the microscope and had subsequently come out as the most beguiling woman he'd ever seen.

He could have pushed it aside, could have given himself a shake and put it all down to hormones if she just hadn't done that one final thing. That final hair tuck. Because until then, Michelle Dessler had still been a compromise.

Yeah, she was standing close to him, and yeah, she was damn beautiful…but that hair. He simply wasn't a man who liked curls. They just weren't his thing, and in that moment she'd become pretty despite them. He'd found himself looking around them, thinking she was gorgeous in every other way except for that one thing…until that final hair tuck.

She'd blushed slightly, one of her dainty hands had gone up to sweep a curl away, and Tony had quite forgotten how to make his brain function. She walked away, and he didn't watch her hips, or her legs, or anything…anything other than her hair.

Hundreds of tendrils, curling away from her face, all of them alive, all of them bouncing down the curve of her back, rich in colour, soft and shiny. Holy shit. The realisation smacked him hard in the face. He wanted to touch them. He wanted to grab fistfuls of that hair, wanted to wrap his fingers in the curls, wanted to rub them between his fingers and press them to his mouth. She wasn't beautiful despite them…she was beautiful because of them. They were different, nonconforming and alluring. They were spectacular, and they matched her. They went with her lovely face, her sensual curves, her pale, pretty legs. They completed the picture, they topped it off, and he couldn't believe how or why he hadn't realised this sooner.

Michelle Dessler was stunning, and had left him feeling slightly confused at himself and the choice of females he'd previously been involved with. He filled his cup and left the break room, thinking really only one thing. Why the hell didn't _more_ women have hair like that?

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><p><em>loves opium of the good and bad variety x<em>


	5. Chapter 5

CTU was having a customary frantic day – intelligence had surfaced regarding an entire city block downtown – and she hadn't stopped roving around the bullpen, instructing her department and delivering new leads to George as they came in. Tony was equally as busy, with field operations to co-ordinate, but not so busy that he didn't occasionally glance at her and feel guilt creep up into his mouth.

He was being a bastard. He knew that. Still, it was almost as though he couldn't help it. Things had spiralled out of control since that day in the break room, since he realised he was deeply attracted to her after months of not being able to get her off his mind. It had worsened since then, with every little thing about her drawing his attention and subsequent glowing approval. He barely went half a day without thinking of her, something that violently frustrated him, so much so that it was causing him to treat her outright unfairly.

He couldn't do anything. He couldn't just sidle up to her, offer her some awkward compliment, no matter how incredibly genuine, and then ask her to have lunch with him. He'd made a decision. No dating in the office. None whatsoever. He was not going to put himself at risk like that or offer himself up to office gossip and humiliation again. Never _ever_ again.

Casual sex might have been alright…if that was what he wanted from her. At first, he was sure that was all he did want. The moment in the break room had crackled and sparked with delicious sexual tension, and he felt himself looking for loopholes in his own rule. Sex wasn't like dating. It was just sex. It was impersonal. It was detached and easy and it really wouldn't matter if she later turned out to be a traitor or a terrorist. Good, he'd initially thought. He would ask her out for a drink and with any luck escort her back to her apartment and kiss her passionately enough to be asked in, where they would then proceed to engage in very taciturn straightforward sex, enjoyed by both parties with the mutual understanding that it really wasn't anything more. It was win-win really. He'd have her, get her out of his system, and there would be no room for embarrassment or humiliation should anything unsavoury occur later down the track.

A couple of days passed since the break room, then a week, and he hadn't done anything. He honestly could not understand why the hell not. She was right there. Metres from him every day. Was it because she had a boyfriend? He wasn't even entirely sure it was a boyfriend, not with the resigned and placating sort of way she spoke to him on the phone. So then what was he waiting for?

It took another full week for him to come to the very monumental conclusion that he simply did not want to. He did not want to con her into going out for a drink and kiss her until she wanted to have sex. He'd never really experienced had such a feeling before. He'd always been incredibly respectful of women, had only ever had consenting relationships and hadn't ever manipulated them into doing anything they didn't want to do…but he did know how to improve his chances with certain charm and caresses and gestures to get what he wanted.

But he didn't want it, whatever 'it' was. He didn't _want_ to improve his chances. He'd watched her. He'd watched her closely. She was lovely. She was sexy, and incredibly pretty, and he was falling more in love with curly hair every time he looked at her. But she was other things too. She was firm and concise, but gentle and understanding with her department at the same time. She wasn't perturbed by new tasks, and didn't shy away from bending protocol, and never really lost her head in a crisis or during a threat. She did get stressed, and tired, and occasionally even frightened, but he watched her push it all aside and get on with the task at hand. Then, once the matter had been dealt with, he'd watched her thank her department, ask them all how they were doing and encourage and support them when they showed signs of distress.

Then, at the end of it all, she still had time to call this guy, whoever he was, and ask him how his day had been, as though hers had been nothing but a walk in the park. She'd take orders from him, and soothe him, and offer to bring him whatever he wanted, and then she'd leave, but not before bidding Tony a very quiet goodnight on her way out.

He did not want to have casual sex with her. He knew that very well. He wanted her. He wanted, god forbid, a relationship with her, or at least something like it. He wanted to get to know her, wanted to know about her past, who she was, what she liked. Right now, she was an enigma to him. He knew nothing more than what she put on display, but he wanted more. He wanted things no one else got. He wanted her in ways no one else had ever experienced. He wanted to…well, he wasn't sure. Look after her? It was sappy and sickly, but he found it was the truth. At the moment, she was his secret. No one else in the office had noticed her, none of the other men were pursuing her, no one was challenging him for her. No one had noticed how beautiful she was, or how clever, or sweet, and he felt oddly protective of his knowledge of these things; oddly protective of her.

And yet, she had no idea. She barely spoke him, rarely looked at him. 'Good night' was the only thing she said to him that wasn't directly related to work, and he made no effort to change that. He knew he didn't want a one night stand with her…but what he did want could end up costing him dearly.

And now, he was fairly certain she hated him. Ever since he'd figured out his feelings toward her he hadn't been nice. In fact, he'd never been so bad to a colleague before in his entire career. He hated himself for it, but it just happened. He couldn't control it. He blatantly ignored her, looked at everyone but her, made her feel as though her work was substandard, made _her_ feel as though she was substandard. He barked at her, and asked her difficult questions, and never gave her due credit. He saw the contempt in her eyes when she turned away from him, the confusion, the dislike. He was being a bastard…but he just wanted her so much and he didn't know what else to do. He was, quite ashamedly, afraid.

A few days after the downtown intelligence, most of which had turned out to be bad, Michelle was summoned to the situation room by way of a short phone call from George. She straightened her shirt slightly and made her way over, feeling tired to the point of ill. CTU was hard work. She knew it was going to be, even before she got there. What she hadn't known was that she would have to contend with people like Almeida as well as terrorists. It was getting to the stage of bullying. Grossly discriminating treatment, and it was starting to affect her work. He treated her like she didn't deserve to be there, like she was holding them back. She knew she wasn't, but still…he wouldn't do it for no reason. Her confidence was taking a beating as a result. Maybe she needed to transfer, or talk to George. She hated to make problems or demand changes, but she had to do something. This was getting out of hand, and there was seemingly no reason for it.

She let herself into the situation room, only to see George and, to her resounding displeasure, Tony, sitting to the side. He looked as displeased to be there as she felt.

'Take a seat, Michelle,' George said. 'I'll make this brief.'

She sat down, and listened, making sure to avoid Tony's gaze at all times. She hated him. She hated that he could make her feel so insecure at work. She hated that she let him. He made her furious, and there was almost nothing she could do about it. She returned her attention to George. He was talking about something that had to do with the bad leads from the downtown thing last week. Apparently they had been issued from an external department, and they were mounting an inquiry to determine if it was more than just a mistake and if there was a possible mole lurking around, either in LA or in Washington. This was to be done from CTU, where the leads had been accumulated, reviewed and filed away, and George was delegating the investigation to his two most senior agents. They would be given the week to comb through the intelligence and look for encryptions and signatures that might uncover the truth. An entire week for Michelle to sit together with Tony in the isolated situation room and work as a team.

Michelle sat very quietly in her chair, her shoulders slightly bowed, feeling as though she was about to embark on the very worst week of her life.

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><p><em>Reviews-opium x<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_So sorry it's been so long x_

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><p>Michelle sat in her usual chair in the situation room, facing the monitor on the wall, files scattered in front of her. She had arrived early to start on the investigation in the very vain hope that she might be able to sort it all out and find the culprit before she was required to spend the next five days with Tony.<p>

It was almost eight thirty now, and no such luck. She relaxed slightly in her chair, reading through the bad intelligence once more. So what if they didn't get along? That was life. It was impossible to expect to be friends with everyone, and she'd spent the weekend coming to terms with the fact that Tony just wasn't a nice person. As long as she did her job – and as long as he didn't try to stop her from doing her job – she could live with it.

'Good morning.'

She looked up. Tony had just come through the door and closed it behind him. The situation room was very private, with almost no windows and only a glass panel in the door. It felt very claustrophobic as he stood there at the head of the table, looking at her discerningly.

'Morning,' she returned. Neither smiled.

Tony sat down a seat away from her, close enough to work as a team, far enough away to maintain their mutual dislike. Michelle immediately took up a file to bring his attention to some interesting discrepancies she'd already found when his voice cut across hers.

'How as your weekend?'

Her gaze met his and she stared at him for several seconds. She blinked. He just watched her.

'Fine,' she eventually said. 'Thank you.'

He nodded.

'Good.'

She felt like frowning at him, but resisted the urge and instead showed him her findings. He listened, and as he did she couldn't help but feel aggravated. He'd spent weeks, months really, treating her with brusque indifference and then, this morning, he just came in and asked her how her weekend had been. It had surprised her endlessly, and then made her slightly suspicious. What was he trying to do? Build bridges for the week? Establish some sort of acquaintance so they could get to the bottom of this investigation? So he could get the credit for a job well done?

'I propose identifying the base origins of the intel first,' he said softly, his eyes scrolling through a file. 'We'll probably find nothing, but it's worth a try.'

She handed him a folder. He looked at her.

'You've done that already?' he asked.

She nodded. 'You're right. There was nothing there.'

He scratched the side of his face.

'Can we trace the timeline? NSA gave it to us, so who gave it to them? All the way back to its beginnings. That sort of thing.'

She nodded again, and pulled her laptop toward her.

'It might yield results,' she said fairly, 'but it's not difficult to fake the timeline of intel. Anyone with decent clearance could make it look as though it came from the White House if they wanted to.'

When he said nothing, she looked over at him. He seemed to be watching her hands as they danced over the keyboard. He stared at them, a frown on his face, and she raised an eyebrow.

'Tony?' she murmured.

'Yeah, you're right,' he agreed, as though nothing had happened. 'Still though, it might give us something.'

She nodded, feeling strangely flushed, and returned her attention to her laptop, sensing that Tony might still be watching her, but not wanting to glance again and find out. She knew he often watched her, but she'd always thought it was something born of aversion. Then again…she'd noticed something odd in his dark eyes just then…something that made her temperature spike. Desire?

That was ridiculous. He didn't like her. He actively reviled her. There had been no desire in his eyes. Besides, there was no attraction between them. She didn't feel particularly drawn to him and she was quite certain she wasn't the sort of woman who drew his interest. Still though…there had been something there…

The next day he was already in the room when she arrived.

'Morning,' he said.

'Hi.'

'How was your night?'

'Fine. Thank you,' she replied, exactly the same as yesterday. He nodded. She dropped gently into her seat, feeling on edge. Then, against all her better judgement she asked 'How was yours?'

He looked back up.

'Fine. Thanks.'

The day proceeded exactly the same way as the day before, with zero talk outside the details of the investigation, as did the next morning. It was only at lunchtime the next day that something changed.

They'd worked right through their usual lunch break, so invested in their work that they'd barely looked at the clock. It was nearly two in the afternoon when they'd excused themselves from the situation room in search of food, and Tony had dug out his sandwiches and headed for the break room. He stopped in the corridor, realising with a jolt of panic that he and Michelle were the only two currently having lunch; everyone else was back to work. That meant she would be in the break room at the same time…and they would be alone. He whirled around instantly and headed back to the bullpen, intending to eat in the situation room, seeing as he would be on his own there and far, far away from her.

Of course, having lunch with her was incredibly high on his list of daily desires, just below tangling his fingers in her hair and making her dinner and just above buying her silly little gifts and kissing the underside of her jawline. Of course, these weren't things he ever intended to actually do, all for a very good reason, so the situation room it was.

He yanked open the door, tossed his sandwiches on the table and froze. Michelle was there, with a small container, a fork, a book and her mobile phone, on which she was currently speaking.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. He cast around. _Shit_. He watched her eyes trail over his own lunch, and he knew he couldn't very well grab the sandwiches and leave. That would be horrifically rude, too rude, even for him and his need to keep her at a distance at all times. He couldn't do it, couldn't be that much of an arsehole to her, and so he sat down gingerly and busied himself with checking his own phone and unwrapping his food.

'No, Danny,' she was saying softly, looking acutely aware of the fact that Tony was present and probably listening. 'I haven't seen her since I left. No, don't do that. She'll call if she wants to, but if not then don't worry, alright? Please don't be like that, Danny. I'll come around after work, alright? Please don't say that. I'll…Danny?'

She rubbed her eyes for a moment and then flipped her phone closed, looking abnormally tired. She seemed to give herself a slight shake and then looked over at Tony.

'Didn't feel like the break room?' she asked after a long awkward moment.

It struck Tony then that the reason she was here matched his own reason perfectly. She thought he'd go to the break room, and she hadn't wanted to join him, especially not alone, and so she'd headed for the situation room, just as he had. He found the irony of the thing almost humorous.

'Uh, no,' he said, feeling as though she knew exactly why he was here too. He raked his gaze over her for a moment. She was wearing all black today, black shoes, black skirt, black top thing. He loved her in black. It set off the lovely lightness of her skin. He also loved her in brown, because it brought out her eyes, and for some reason burgundy and red really threw her curls into focus. Beige and white gave her an angelic quality (as though she needed help with that) and purple and navy gave her face a very pretty glow, or maybe that was just the light makeup she paired with those colours. He never tried to figure out how she did it, he just loved that she did.

'I've taken a liking to this room,' he finished lamely.

She nodded, looking exceptionally unconvinced. She knew he wanted to avoid her, and he felt the strong urge to punch himself for making her aware of it.

'So, ah…boyfriend giving you trouble?' he asked, though he was almost certain it wasn't a boyfriend.

'What? Oh…no. My brother. He's…he's going through a hard time.'

'Oh,' Tony said, watching her gorgeous hands open her salad container and take up her fork. 'Sorry to hear that.'

'Thanks,' she said, without looking at him. She neatly speared a small bit of lettuce on the prongs of her fork, brought it to her lips and bit it off. Tony looked away, realising he had never watched her eat before and cursing himself furiously for being in a position where he now had to, with no distractions to be found.

'Big family?' he asked after a minute.

She swallowed a small piece of cucumber, looking uncomfortable, as though she'd rather not do something as personal as eat in front of him.

'No,' she explained. 'It's just the two of us.'

He nodded, making a mental note to quietly check her personal file later to see why.

'You?' she asked unexpectedly. 'Big family?'

'Not really,' he said, swallowing a bite of thickly packed sandwich. 'Fair few cousins. Parents in Chicago. A younger brother out here. He doesn't give me any trouble though.'

'That's good,' she said ruefully.

He nodded in agreement. 'Yeah.'

The clock on the wall ticked softly. Tony finished one sandwich and then started on another. Michelle had barely scraped the sides of her salad.

'Book any good?' he asked, hating himself for being so terrifically awkward with her.

She glanced at the novel by her hand.

'It's…not really,' she said truthfully, her mouth turning up at the corners. 'Pretty bad actually. My brother's birthday gift to me. His heart was in the right place, at least.'

'That's too bad. When…when was your birthday?'

Their eyes met at the same time, for what reason neither was exactly sure.

'Saturday,' she told him quietly.

Tony nodded. _Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it._

'Happy birthday.'

_Damn it._

'Thanks,' she said, a real smile almost upon her lips.

'Have a party?'

She shook her head, her curls bouncing around her ears.

'An old college friend was in town by luck. Just went out for dinner.'

The next morning he arrived after her, two coffee cups in his hand.

'Belated birthday gift,' he explained casually, setting one down in front of her. 'It's not a terrible book or anything but…'

'Thank you,' she said, accepting the cup with a genuine look of surprise on her face, something made more severe by the realisation that he knew exactly how she took her coffee.

The next morning he pulled her chair out for her, they shared their lunch for the third time that week and by four in the afternoon they'd wrapped up the investigation, with a suspect to be arrested and a new security protocol in place to prevent it from happening again.

By four thirty Michelle was called into George's office.

'Good work this week, Michelle,' he said, barely looking up from his computer, his glasses jammed onto his face.

'Thank you, Mr Mason,' she replied, slightly confused as to why she was there. Were people really ever called into the director's office to receive praise?

'Division wants you in D.C in two weeks, they're holding Crisis Management training courses. You've been slotted in for the fifteenth.'

Michelle processed this for a moment. That sort of training meant a lot of things. At the moment, she worked purely with computers, with hacking and searching and building suspect profiles. Crisis Management referred to decision making, to strategy planning, to running point for field operations. It would give her more responsibilities, a higher security clearance, more input in active protocols and threat assessments. It was, more or less, a promotion without a title change. It would also send her up a pay grade.

'Thank you, sir,' she said, not knowing what else to say.

'S'fine,' he said. He hadn't looked up once, but she didn't mind. That was just his way. 'Was Almeida's call anyway. I just signed off on it. Again, good work this week.'

'Thank you,' she repeated, and, taking herself to be dismissed, she descended the stairs back to her station. Tony was on the phone at his own desk, looking sceptical about whatever message was being relayed into his ear, and Michelle stole a glance at him. Even without his advocacy for her training, she felt strangely deflated that their week together was over. Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all. Maybe he was beginning to like her…just as much as she was beginning to like him.

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><p><em>Still love the opium - but only if its worth it xx<em>


	7. Chapter 7

_Happy birthday to Erionab. Chapter seven is up today for you._

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><p>Michelle checked her reflection in her rear view mirror, felt mostly satisfied with what she found (aside from the usual unbecoming frizzy strands escaping the more defined curls of her hair) and stepped out into the CTU parking lot.<p>

It was a beautiful day, the sun was out, the breeze cool, and she felt as though it reflected her mood perfectly. Two days ago she'd flown back in from her three week stint in Washington. The Crisis Management course had been hard work, but she'd enjoyed it very much. She'd been bombarded with techniques and ideas and new skills and she felt armed to the teeth with capability. She had experienced a wonderful sense of professional enrichment and fulfilment, and was looking forward to applying all of it to her work.

But the three weeks hadn't been entirely positive. She'd missed CTU somewhat. She'd missed…it was hard to admit it, even to herself…but she'd missed Tony. She'd missed seeing him, missed his voice, and she'd missed their week together in the situation room.

After the investigation, before her trip to D.C, they'd become almost friendly. They'd shared a couple more coinciding lunch breaks and had lingered over coffee once or twice in the break room together. They'd started a habit of going to each other's station to discuss the general ineptitude of those at Division or to talk over some new development or lead before taking it to George.

Things weren't entirely affable between them yet. He still watched her guardedly, his eyes still traced over her as she spoke to him in a way that suggested he was examining her or making some kind of conclusion about her…but now it was different. When his dark gaze latched on to her face, or hands, or whatever, she felt an odd twang of approval. _Yes_, she found herself thinking quietly, _look at me…I love it when you look at me …_

It was stupid. It was even a little crazy. She shouldn't be so thrilled with it. He was just looking at her. There was nothing behind it. It was just the way he was. His eyes were just nice and dark and sexy, and she was making it into something it wasn't.

He'd endorsed her training, had basically signed her up for it. That meant he valued her work. It meant he thought she was professionally valuable, worth training, worth listening to. At CTU, where people struggled to keep up and often cracked under the pressure, that was something of a compliment. And it meant something to her. Too often in her life people had tried to hold her back, drag her down or make her feel as though she wasn't deserving of her position. All the guys in her computer science classes at college had done it daily. Intimidated past boyfriends had given her grief over it, as well as Danny, then Carrie at Division and then him…until things changed during their week together. Now…now he was pushing her forward, he expected good work from her, great work even, and consistently sought out her opinion. He didn't underestimate her or try to hold her back. It meant something to her.

He hadn't told her that it was his idea to send her on the training course. He hadn't tried to use the fact in any way, hadn't even wanted her to know. But she did know.

Then, she'd flown off to D.C, had started her course and, a week into her gruelling training, she realised she missed him. It was that very same evening that she dug her ringing phone out of her bag on the way back to her hotel after a late dinner only to find Tony's number registering on the screen. It wasn't even his CTU extension. It was his private mobile number, something she had filed away from the few times he'd called her from offsite investigations.

'Dessler,' she answered softly, after staring at the phone until it almost rang out.

'Uh, hey,' came the low gravelly tone she was growing so accustomed to. 'It's Tony.' He paused for a moment. 'Almeida.' Another sharp pause. 'From work.'

'Hi,' she said uncertainly, feeling her heart give a harsh, jarring beat, as though she'd just been defibrillated.

'Sorry to bother you,' he said, his tone suddenly clipped. 'You couldn't give me the access key for the encryption software, could you? Not the regular one Division uses, the Langley one.'

Michelle stopped in the glow of a dim streetlamp near her hotel, staring hard at the footpath.

'The Langley one? Not off the top of my head. It's definitely in my system though, under the access keys subfolder.'

'Alright,' he said, sounding strangely ill at ease. 'Uh, thanks.'

'S'okay,' she said. 'Well…bye.'

'Wait. How's…uh…how's D.C?' he asked, the last part of the question strangely rushed.

'It's good,' she replied. 'A little cold.'

'Oh,' he said. There was silence for a moment. 'You packed warmly though, right? You're…uh…not freezing or anything?'

'No,' she said quickly, feeling the colour in her cheeks rise, though she had no idea why. 'No, I'm fine.'

'And the course? Is that…good?'

'It's great,' she said, hoping her tone conveyed the gratitude she felt toward him. 'It's intense, but great.'

He didn't say anything for several seconds, and neither did she, almost as though they were both waiting for something.

'Okay,' he said abruptly. 'Well, see you in two weeks then.'

He hung up before she could reply, leaving her standing on the street, staring blankly at her phone. Then she looked at the time. It was well after the day shift ended there… Tony often stayed late though. She shouldn't read into that at all. He simply would not call her for no reason and ask for something she was almost certain he could find himself. He simply wouldn't, and she was a fool to think anything else.

He hadn't rung her again, and they'd had no contact for two weeks. Now, she was back, and…well, she'd missed him. She didn't need to internally stifle the sentiment anymore, not if she kept it to herself – very much to herself. He wasn't interested. Hell, he only barely liked her in a professional capacity, and even that was a close call.

Now, as she passed through the doors into the buzzing bull pen, she realised, with a small measure of dismay, that there was a slight spring in her step. Feeling exasperated, she quickly altered her gait to something a little more professional. So...perhaps she'd missed him a little more than she thought.

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><p><em>Reviews are so much opium <em>


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing she did was look for him. Not overtly, just a fleeting glance at his station, to see if he was busy or not. He wasn't there. The station behind his, the systems analyst station, was occupied. A woman was there, glasses on her nose, typing away. Michelle considered her for a moment. She hadn't known they were getting a new systems analyst. They badly needed one, with a lot of the work spilling over into Michelle's day, Tony's and anyone else who had spare time.

Making a mental note to introduce herself when she had a moment, Michelle dropped into her chair and started combing through the heavy pile up of work that had accumulated while she'd been away. No major threats had come in, but there was a serious amount of reports and protocols to be reviewed and signed off on.

Half an hour into the morning, she left her station to head to IT, needing a software upgrade, when she nearly bumped into Tony in the darkened side corridor.

'Whoa,' he said, stopping just short of reaching out to steady her. 'Oh,' he said, realising it was her. 'Hey.'

'Hey,' she said, tucking a curl behind her ear before she could stop it. _Damn_.

Predictably, his eyes ran the length of her face, and predictably, Michelle felt her stomach twist. It was good to see him. Really good. Then, without her permission at all, she felt her mouth turn up in a smile.

She watched his eyes take it in (she had never felt more embarrassed for smiling before in her life) and then she watched a smile grace his own lips. He had never smiled before. Not at work at least. Not in front of her. It was a little unsure, but it was there. And she took it in. He did have such a nice mouth.

'You're back,' he said, his voice more whispered than usual.

'Yeah,' she said, glancing back toward the bullpen. 'The place survived without me.'

'Well, just,' he said, half seriously. 'You enjoyed the rest of the course?'

'Yeah, I did. Learned a lot.'

'Good,' he said. His eyes flickered over her collarbone for a split second, visible above her shirt, and Michelle shunted aside the little voice that violently applauded his perusal of her. _There's nothing here. He's off limits. Stop it. For christ's sake, stop it. _

'We have a new systems analyst?' she asked, wondering if there was any sort of blush across her chest and if he could discern it in the gloomy lighting of the corridor.

'Oh yeah,' he said. 'Paula Schaeffer. She came in last week. What do you think of her?'

'I haven't met her yet,' she said apologetically. 'But she seems fine.'

'She's pretty promising,' he said. 'A bit jumpy while she's learning the ropes, but promising.'

'It's unlike George to hire someone jumpy…' she mused.

'George didn't hire her,' he said. 'I did.'

'Oh,' she said. 'Well, learning takes time.'

'Yeah. Well, I'd better get back to work.'

He pushed past her, took a couple of strides, and then stopped.

'Good to have you back,' he said, in what was a very professional sort of tone.

'Thanks.'

It was just before midday when Michelle looked up from her system, where she'd been absorbed in her work, to find the new woman, Paula, standing by her station.

'Hey,' she said, an uninhibited smile on her face. She stuck out her hand. 'I'm Paula.'

Michelle shook it lightly.

'Michelle –'

'Dessler,' Paula finished. 'Tony told me you were third in command.'

'I…yes. IP Manager.'

'Tony said you'd be back today. You were in D.C. Was that fun?'

'It was very interesting,' she said, not sure if fun was really the right word. 'It's good to have you here, we've needed a new analyst for a while.'

'Yeah, I know,' she said, her voice young and friendly. 'Tony said that too. He said most of my work has been done by you, and it really requires someone's full attention…so that's why I'm here, I guess.'

'Oh, well, I hope you settled in alright. I'm here if you need any help.'

'Yeah, Tony said I could go to you if he wasn't around. Well, it was nice meeting you.'

Tony said that, did he? Tony seemed to have said lots of things to this girl. Lots and lots of things. Tony generally didn't say anything to anyone, especially nothing friendly, or tolerant, or helpful. Michelle knew this. She also knew Tony had ignored her, talked down to her, made her feel undeserving of her own job when she first started. In fact, it had gone on for months and months. Only now was he finally warming to her. This woman, Paula, had been here for a week and Tony seemed to have all the time in the world for her.

Michelle knew she had no business feeling hostile toward her. None at all. She was a tech girl, a bit dorky, but very clever. She seemed nice and unassuming and….Michelle couldn't quite believe she was feeling jealous.

The feeling only increased after her lunch break, when she saw Tony by Paula's station, patiently explaining something to her, an unmistakable feeling of trust between them.

Michelle wondered what was behind it. Perhaps he merely felt responsible for her, having hired her himself. Maybe he liked her as a friend. Maybe…maybe he was into her and her curly hair and her bubbly, childish smile. No…Michelle knew it wasn't an attraction. It just wasn't. Still though…it irked her a little bit. It shouldn't, but it did, and she couldn't pretend otherwise.

'I met Michelle.'

Tony looked away from the screen and fixed Paula with a slightly confused look.

'You did? Well, that's good.'

'Yeah. She's…nice. A bit cold.'

'What? No, she's…she's just got a lot of work today.'

'I get why you like her, she's pretty.'

Tony straightened up.

'What d'you mean?'

Paula gave a flippant shrug and tugged her glasses of her nose.

'I get why you like her…'

'Well, she's a good colleague,' he said, feeling unreasonably annoyed.

'Okay. Sorry, Tony,' she said, returning her attention to the screen. 'You were going to show me this socket thing.'

'Yeah.'

Tony couldn't resist a quick glance over at the woman in question. She was wearing a plum coloured business shirt today. It was new. He wondered if she got it in D.C. It was nice on her.

He'd missed her. In a very serious sort of way. Three weeks was a damn long time to go without your closest friend. Not that they were friends…she was just the closest thing he had to one these days. He missed her face, and her curls and her voice and it hadn't taken three weeks for that to happen. He'd started missing her, just a little bit, the first day she'd been gone.

Then, he'd rung her. He'd wanted to kill himself the moment afterward, wanted to pretend it never happened. He was fairly sure she saw through it, but he was clinging to the tiniest shred of hope that she hadn't. He'd just wanted to connect with her, to hear her voice, to say something to her, anything.

That very afternoon, once he'd finished up work, he'd gone to a bar several streets over, a showy and slightly expensive place that did after work cocktails. There he met a woman his brother had set him up with.

'_She's Danielle's friend and she's interested. Just meet her somewhere for a drink after work.'_

'_No.'_

'_Why not?'_

'_No reason.'_

'_You've got to get back in the saddle. Meet the girl, buy her a drink, take her home and have some fun. Just do it.'_

'_I don't –'_

'_What is wrong with you, man? You've gone soft…'_

'_Fine. Fine, I'll meet her.'_

So he'd gone to the bar, found the blind date due to the general emptiness of the place, and he'd bought her a pink coloured cocktail with blood orange rind perched on the rim. She was exactly what he liked….exactly what he'd thought he liked…_used_ to like. Sultry blue eyes and delicious looking lips. She wasn't incredibly busty but still hot as hell. Sleek, strawberry blonde hair. She worked somewhere and liked some stuff…he hadn't really listened. Then, after an hour (the time he deemed after which he wouldn't seem like a total pig) he made his excuses and left.

He had simply no idea what he was doing when he found himself sitting in his car moments later, dialling her number and listening to it ring.

She answered, he panicked for a moment, and then work mode mercifully kicked in and he rattled off some request, the likes of which was barely plausible. She'd told him where to find what he was after and bid him goodbye. Then, realising he'd not yet heard enough of her voice, he stopped her. He asked her about D.C and about the course and she told him it was all fine. He wondered if she could hear the need behind the call, or the longing. He wondered if she had any idea how much he wanted her back at home after only a couple of days of being away.

Then, he got cold feet. He couldn't do this. He couldn't start something here, couldn't hand his heart over to someone he barely knew. It was insane. Stupid. He couldn't do it. He hurriedly said goodbye, snapped his phone shut and threw it, hard, against the dash of his car, furious at himself. He'd come to close to saying something, to making his feelings known…he couldn't come that close again.

Now, she was back. She'd smiled at him today. She's never smiled before, not properly, and it had just about killed him. It was as though she was teasing him, taunting him. He'd smiled back, quite involuntarily, and wondered if he just imagined the faint, pinkish tinge that had spread across her upper chest. _Shit._ This was ridiculous. It was torture. She was pure evil to him, and not in a Nina Myers way. Evil in a way that was entirely – and wonderfully – her own.

She was back and he could relax. He could watch her, enjoy her from a distance, think about her as often as he wanted. Nothing more though. He had vowed not to make the same absurd mistakes again, and so he could fall in love with Michelle Dessler all he wanted, provided she never knew.

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><p><em>Loving the opium - thank you x<em>


	9. Chapter 9

'Morning.'

Michelle glanced up from her freshly poured cup of coffee to see Tony in the doorway.

'Hey,' she said, giving a small friendly smile. She took a sip from her cup and set it back down on the break room counter. 'Looks like a slow day.'

'Yeah,' he said, filling his mug. 'Wanna help me later with some of the LAX stuff?'

'Enticing,' she joked. 'Yeah, I'll have some free time before noon.'

'Alright, sounds good,' he said. She took up her cup and headed back for her station. Tony followed her a moment later, and she watched him venture over to Paula with some sort of guidance to bestow.

Paula was still a slightly sore spot for Michelle, but she realised at some point over the last couple of weeks that she liked watching Tony with her. She enjoyed observing him in his moments of generosity, enjoyed the encouragement he offered her. Paula had settled in, and her quizzical personality, however polite, was starting to become difficult for him. She was considerably excited about her work, and considerably excited about CTU in general. Michelle found Tony's patience toward her endearing, and found his attempts at diffusing her eagerness even more so. It was the very final thing, the very last thing, that had tipped the balance in his favour, and she realised, only a couple of days ago, that she was falling for him. Yes, she was deeply attracted to him. To say anything else was a lie, but it was more than that now. This saddened her more than anything. He wasn't interested. It wasn't that she thought he wasn't interested in her per se (though she doubted he was), she just knew he wasn't interested in relationships at all, and, mostly significantly, relationships in the office.

Michelle was midway through examining Tony as he explained a new protocol to Paula when she got an alert. Some sort of fax had come in for her to review, and she pushed away from her desk to go pick it up.

Frowning at the fax, she placed a quick call to verify it before returning to the bullpen just in time to hear George rebuke Tony for bringing up the LAX upgrades. He clearly wasn't in the best of moods.

'Mr Mason,' she said after a moment, having read the request a third time.

'What?'

'I just got off the phone with Eric Rayburn's office at NSA,' she told him.

'Yeah?'

'They have a request, sir. They want you to take care of it right away.'

He read the fax and frowned deeply, just as she had done.

'This can't be right.' He cast around to find the closest staffer. 'Eileen, wanna get me Eric Rayburn? I think he's up in Oregon with the President. Put it in my office.'

He stomped off up to his office, looking baffled.

'What was that about,' Tony asked her once George was out of earshot.

She turned to him, her interest piqued.

'NSA wants us to bring in Jack Bauer,' she told him, watching carefully for his reaction.

'What? What for?'

'I don't know. That's all they said. Isn't Bauer inactive?'

'Yeah,' Tony said, looking mildly confused and a little disquieted. 'He's inactive.'

Michelle returned to her station, sharing Tony's concern. She knew a little about Jack Bauer, a little about his wife Terri and Nina Myers, though she did not know enough to understand why he would be called in after so many consecutive months of inactivity.

For the next ten minutes her system was flooded with priorities and upgrades, things she didn't have clearance to understand or even really open, and after an interesting alert from the CIA she left her station for Tony's

'Have you checked your system in the last five minutes?' she asked him quietly.

'No, what's up?'

She opened the alert on his screen.

'Langley issued an information flow advisory. Something's going on. Whatever it is, it's going to be interagency.'

He stared at it for a minute, in which time Michelle realised just how close they were. She was bent over his desk, invading his personal space. In her hurry to show him the advisory she'd completely forgotten to keep her usual distance.

He let out a deep sigh, making one of her loose curls flutter slightly in his breath, before he asked her to call in some extra man power. Then he pushed away from the desk, got to his feet and she looked up, simultaneously horrified and exhilarated to realise he was standing a little too close. Close enough for her to catch a hint of his aftershave, close enough to feel warmed by him, to feel comforted against whatever threat was about to invade their quiet morning. For a moment he gazed at her darkly, and though she tried to resist, her eyes dropped, just for a second, to his mouth.

'And uh…start filtering everything that comes in, alright?' he said softly.

She gave a slight nod and allowed him to step around her. Her hand travelled involuntarily up to tuck a curl behind her ear, and she felt completely certain that he was aware of it, completely certain he surveyed her entire trip back to her station. A fleeting glance back proved her right, and she felt a slight shiver steal down her spine.

Struck with an incapacitating bout of desire, she dropped into her chair and barely noticed when Paula started rambling on at her. She suddenly felt irrationally annoyed at the girl who had Tony's unwavering confidence and support, especially in her moment of such longing for him, longing she could never act on.

'Hey. Something's going on, isn't it?' Paula said.

'We're not sure.'

'You know, I could do those redundancies for you.'

'S'okay.'

'I mean, I've studied the protocols, I know how to do it.'

'Paula,' Michelle heard herself say shortly. 'You're trying too hard.'

She watched Paula's face drop and instantly felt angry at herself. Paula didn't deserve that. Not at all.

'Just do your job,' she said, her tone softening. 'Everything's going to be fine.'

'Sorry,' Paula said quietly, looking embarrassed. 'I've waited to get assigned here for two years.'

It was at that moment that George called them over for an impromptu department meeting. Worried, Michelle made her way over to him, feeling an odd sense of trepidation. George was looking particularly grave.

Tony returned to his station after George dismissed them, feeling stunned. A nuclear bomb? _A nuclear bomb_? In Los Angeles? Jack still wasn't cooperating with the request from NSA, and, until he did, they were in the dark. He was needed for cover work in what was their only lead. Otherwise…otherwise there was a distinct possibility they could all die today.

He found himself searching out Michelle, who had returned to her computer and was typing at a rate he'd never seen before. Her eyes flew back and forth across the screen, looking both determined and fearful, and he felt his heart rate quicken. Only a moment ago he'd been standing right next to her, a little too close, enjoying her proximity and the general effect it had on him. Her perfume was still fresh, and, though subtle, it was becoming his favourite smell in the world. Chocolate, the colour of her shirt, was lovely on her, and her curls were bunched back at the nape of her neck, springy and alluring. She'd washed them that morning. He could always tell. He'd taken her in, all of her, for a split second, feeling overcome with need, before stepping around her and letting her go.

_Do it,_ he'd found himself thinking as his gaze flickered back to her. _Do the hair thing. Come on. Do it_.

He'd allowed himself a small adoring smile when her pale, pretty hand went up to push a curl away as she returned to her desk, a physical trait he'd caught her doing often enough for him to believe it had something to do with what was between them. In that moment, they had almost been in sync. He'd silently begged for her to tend to her hair in that deliciously shy way of hers, and she'd done it, almost as though she could read his mind, almost as though she did it just to thrill him. Maybe she liked him too. Maybe she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

Then, the news of the nuclear bomb had come in and all in an instant everything had changed. They might die today. All of them. Him. Michelle. Just like that. And if they did, it would be without making his feelings about her a priority. It would be without initiating something with her, without telling her he was already a little in love with her, that he barely stopped thinking about her, that he craved her touch.

But how could he tell her now? It was hardly appropriate, with both their phones ringing off their hooks and their systems inundated with an alarming amount of requests. Not when they were feeling harried, not when the fate of millions of people rested in their hands.

Feeling incalculably livid at himself, he returned to his work. He hadn't told her how he felt because he'd been afraid. Well, he was still afraid, only now it was because he was worried he might never get the chance.

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><p><em>xx<em>


	10. Chapter 10

CTU was bombed, and he was blinded. He felt paralysed, dazed with the shock. He stumbled to his feet, assessing quickly that he was not harmed, not badly at least.

Then, his eyes scanned the bullpen, his vision clouded by the dust and smoke and debris. Where was she? Where had she been when the bomb detonated? He strained to remember. She'd been ushering people out, urging them to hurry to safety, staying until the last person had been seen to. Her courage had been cut short however; the blast had torn through the building before her task was done.

He could see bodies, could hear people calling out, could see little fires sprouting up amongst equipment and then he saw her. Caught in the light, he found her standing up on wobbly legs, fumbling her way through the mess, looking battered, dirty and shocked, but thankfully unharmed. He watched her stop at a body on the floor and drop to her knees, looking terribly distressed at the sight, her eyes roaming over the man as though desperately trying to identify signs of life.

'Tony. H-Help me.

He looked down. Lying at his feet was Luke, a comm assistant, gruesomely wounded and coated in his own blood.

'Luke!'

Tony grabbed him and drew him to his feet, away from the smouldering plasterboard by his side. Blood surged from his mouth as he stood and Tony heard him give a resigned groan of pain.

'Can we get some help over here!' Tony called out, horrified by the extent of Luke's injuries. 'A little help?'

'Tony!'

He glanced up, finding Michelle stumbling toward him, looking immensely upset. All around her were bodies, some moving, some still, and Tony knew this was not the time or place to express his gratitude for her safety. Not when they were surrounded by fallen colleagues and others who needed their help. There would be time for that later.

'Michelle,' he said, masking his relief. 'Look, I need you to set up a triage…and take Luke with you.'

'Here, Luke,' she said, her voice comforting and oddly authoritative, as though a firm tone alone would put Luke on his way to recovery. 'I've got you, it's Michelle.'

Tony didn't want to ask her to do it, didn't want to load her up with responsibility or force her to face the nightmarish loss of life around them, but he knew he could trust her. He knew he could count on her to push her horror aside and administer aid to the injured, and so he deposited Luke into her arms and scanned for the next victim: Paula, trapped under layers of ceiling fixtures.

Michelle led Luke away, trying not to stagger on anything, trying not to step on anyone. She could already hear distant ambulance sirens, and slowly escorted Luke toward the door where she planned to establish a triage. The paramedics could get to them faster by the door. She went back and forth with survivors, gently placing them in chairs or reclining them upon the floor, taking no notice of the blood spattered upon her each time.

After she'd tended to all the badly injured people within reach, she looked around her at the several able bodied ones left standing, dirty and bruised, but mostly unharmed like her. There weren't many, perhaps just enough to patch the place up and restart the investigation, which, she subsequently realised, had been on hold for far too long due to the bombing.

Helping the staff of CTU was crucial, but none of it would matter if they didn't find the nuke. She began salvaging what she could of the equipment in the bullpen, hooking it all up to form a barely workable station. A call from Jack Bauer distracted her, and she took down his situation report and went to find Tony, who was crouched beside Paula's prophetic tomb.

'Tony?'

He looked up and left his post.

'What's up?'

Michelle took him in, covered in white dust, his face lined with sweat and blood. For a moment the other body coated in dust and sweat and blood, the body she'd mistaken for him, swam across her mind and she felt her heart pull. She'd really thought it was him, she'd thought he was gone, and she hadn't been at all prepared for the agony she'd felt because of it.

Without thinking, she reached out to touch his arm, needing to make contact with him and not giving a damn for once about what it could all mean.

'Just got off the phone with Jack Bauer,' she said.

'Where is he?'

'On his way to see Wald, he wanted Mason to know.'

'Yeah, well,' Tony said, looking frustrated, 'Mason's checked out. Look, just get the information directly to NSA, alright?'

He turned to go back to the rescue mission for Paula.

'Oh, and he asked about his daughter Kim,' Michelle remembered, unable to bring herself to look at Paula buried under the wreckage.

'Oh,' he said. 'No…'

'What?'

'She was on her way here. Look, can you check the security logs? See if she was in the building.'

She nodded.

'Thanks,' he said. Before he pulled away he touched her hand, tapped it, really, with his own, a strange way to seal their first post-bomb conversation. Michelle felt grateful for it, felt like thanking him for making the time to do it. It was a miniscule gesture, but it still calmed her, still reaffirmed that he was actually there with her and not so very dead as she first thought.

She was rushing back from IT, where she'd found some intact servers to patch together with the damaged ones when she nearly ran into a stretcher containing Paula, stationary in the dilapidated bullpen. She cast the servers aside and approached the paramedics.

'What's going? Why is she here?'

She glanced around and spotted Tony, watching, looking distraught.

'Why is Paula still here?' she asked him, following him to his junkyard of a station.

'It was Mason's call.'

She blinked in disbelief, feeling borderline hysterical on Paula's behalf. She'd heard the paramedics talking, she knew how bad Paula's internal bleeding was.

'She has almost no chance of surviving if we don't get her to a hospital now.'

'Yeah, I know.'

'I thought Mason wasn't even coming back,' she said accusingly, her panic beginning to rise. How could they just leave Paula to die?

'Well, he's back. He's trying to revive Paula long enough so she can access the information she was sending to NSA.'

'So he's just gonna let her die?' she asked incredulously.

Tony leant over his desk and let out a grief-stricken breath.

'I'm not so sure Mason made the wrong call,' he told her, his head bowed. 'I mean Paula is the only person who can retrieve that information.'

For a moment, Michelle felt like slapping him. Then she examined his face, the face she knew so well, and realised this was destroying him. Wrong call or not, he was grieving in advance for the girl he'd taken under his wing, and there was almost nothing he could do.

Feeling ashamed for not seeing his torment earlier, she placed her hand, after a slight hesitation, upon his back. It was inappropriate, she probably shouldn't do it, but the man she loved was suffering, and she was only human. She wanted to comfort him, wanted to wrap her arms around him, wanted to lie and say that it would all be fine.

'I'm…I'm sorry,' she murmured instead. 'I'm sorry, Tony.'

His breathing was erratic; she knew he was trying to hide his emotion, and she racked her brain to come up with something to say, something professional yet helpful. Something that would soothe him without crossing any lines.

'It's just...I'm the one who brought her to CTU,' he said, turning to face her, looking completely unguarded for the very first time, strangely able to reveal his distress when they were alone together behind the partition of his station. 'I hired her. This job, it's all she ever wanted to do. She never even got a chance to do it.'

'She did,' Michelle heard herself say with conviction. She wondered if she actually believed it, but she knew Tony needed to hear it. She knew she couldn't let him believe Paula was going to die with regrets and unfulfilled desires.

He stood up straight then, and they were caught a little too close again. Michelle didn't care. She had a small feeling he didn't either. For a moment they looked each other over. She didn't know how or why but they were both alive. He was right here, looking at her. She wanted to do so many things, wanted to envelope herself in his arms and feel the dismay of the last hour leave her, but she couldn't.

There was something intense between them as they locked eyes, a surging feeling of loyalty, of solidarity. They were in this together, this terrible threat, this mounting day of fear. Of that they were both suddenly sure.

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><p>xxx<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

'Find something that makes you happy. Do it. Everything else is all just background noise.'

George gave her a fatherly squeeze on the shoulder and sent her on her way back downstairs. She returned to her station, feeling more distracted than she had at any other point in the day, even more distracted than when Tony sat beside her and touched her neck.

She'd been combing through a recording when he'd approached her and asked her if she found anything new. With nothing to report, she'd tossed the headphones aside and rubbed at her forehead, almost oblivious to the fact that he was beside her, watching her. The day was starting to get to her. Most of the people in her team, the people who worked beneath her, were dead. Paula was dead. Mason was dying.

'You okay?'

'Yeah,' she lied, looking up at him. 'Just running on empty.'

For a moment she was stuck looking at him. Even at a time like this, even at her worst, he still engaged her, still sought out her attention, still sent delicious rolling shivers down her spine.

'Then why don't you get something to eat?'

'M'fine.'

'Hey, uh…your neck's bleeding here.'

Before she knew it, the pad of his thumb was on her neck, moving across her skin and, while a million sensations bolted through her, she felt saddened when she realised she hadn't been wounded there.

'It's someone else's blood.'

Of course, his concern did things to her too, and she almost felt the floodgates open. She couldn't do this here, couldn't fall apart, no matter how gentle he was, no matter how caring he was being. They didn't have time for a meltdown. Los Angeles didn't have time for her grief.

He gave her an out, told her to go get changed and eat something, and she hurried away, needing to hide for a moment, just a moment, to get herself under control. She threw on the cleanest top in her locker, had two bites of a sandwich before giving up, and then returned to work.

Then, without meaning to, she'd expressed her sadness to George, her sympathy for his terrible condition, and without warning, he'd told her some things that had really hit home. He had regrets, he had fears, but most of all, he had advice and he'd chosen to give it to her.

_Find something that makes you happy…_

This job made her happy. It gave her drive and purpose and she saved lives here, strengthened her country. Most importantly, it gave her a sense of connection. She didn't have much in her life. A couple of old friends she rarely saw, a very dependent Danny and that was about it. She needed this job, and it needed her. Her country needed her. She was good at what she did and CTU required people like her. She knew that.

What was more, she felt a sense of duty. Lots of people had left her in life. Her mother, her father, boyfriends, friends. Danny took off on occasion, only to come back when he needed her. But her country hadn't. Her country hadn't abandoned her. In fact, it had employed her. It paid the bills. It gave her a sense of fulfilment, made her feel at home and hadn't turned her out. And she got to stop threats, got to save lives, and at night she went home feeling satisfied, feeling mostly whole. This job did make her happy. It was precisely what she wanted to do, and so she felt none of the regret George experienced at not having done something else.

But she wasn't _really_ happy. She was content in a professional sense…but personally? She lived in a small apartment on her own, where she ate her pre-made meals, slept, and thought about Tony. He excited her. He thrilled her. He aroused her. Comforted her. Respected her professional and understood her job perfectly, with its many hardships and demands. He could make her happy.

What was the point of protecting her heart? What was the point of keeping this professional distance between them? They could test out a personal relationship and maintain a professional one at the same time. So what was stopping her? What was holding her back? The fact that he mightn't share her feelings? It would hurt, it would be humiliating and she'd probably feel immensely uncomfortable at work for a long time to come…but so what? Wasn't it worth the risk? They might all die today. They could all die at any time…what point was there in keeping herself locked away from him forever? She wanted him. Badly.

This was going to take immense courage. She knew that. But courage was something she had and so when Tony came over to her station and sat on the edge of the desk she listened to him, taking in his concerns about Syed Ali and the Warner family and agreed to his idea about widening the search.

'Anything else?' he asked.

She took a deep breath. He was here. He was listening. They had a moment. Now was as good a time as any. She urged herself not to lose her nerve.

'Yeah,' she said, giving Mason's office a long look. 'I was talking to Mason before and…'

She trailed off. No, she couldn't do this. He wouldn't reciprocate. There was no point.

'And?' he prodded her.

_Find something that makes you happy..._

_You make me happy, _she heard herself thinking. _You do. I despise weekends and look forward to Mondays and it's only because of you. I have to do this._

'Look, I know this is hardly the time,' she said, taking a fortifying breath, 'but I don't know what much time we have so…I just wanted you to know if you wanted to go out sometime…'

'Uh…Michelle,' he murmured immediately, looking disarmed.

'No,' she said, feeling strong, 'you don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how I felt.'

'No, Michelle,' he said, gazing hard at the corner of her screen.

_Well, at least you did it_, she thought. _At least you gave it a shot. You can stop wondering now._

'I feel the same way.'

She stared at him, taking in his slightly anxious expression. He…felt the same way? _What? _But…that made no sense. Why…why would he treat her so badly for so long? Had she misheard him? Wait…maybe it was all the same thing…

'I've just been keeping my distance because…'

He trailed off again, and amid the silence something was being pieced together in her mind. Had he been bad to her because he liked her? Because he wanted her? Had he done it because the memory of the Myers traitor was still so fresh in his mind and he desperately needed to keep himself detached?

'Because of what happened between you and Nina?' she queried, hoping to relieve his embarrassment a little.

'Yeah,' he said, looking anywhere but her.

She felt something very small erupt within her. He _did_ want her. That's why he'd been bad…

'So you think I just want you for your information?' she teased, trying to lighten the mood for him. _Don't be embarrassed. I want you. I think I've always wanted you. _

Her heart fluttered when he gave a self-deprecating grin at her joke and cast around, colour in his cheeks.

'So uh…' he asked, his grin broadening. It was gorgeous. He'd never grinned, not at her, or because of her, and she liked it. 'What are we saying here? If we save LA from a nuclear bomb, then you and I can get together for dinner and movie, is that it?'

Now it was her turn to smile. A nuclear bomb? No biggie. They just had to get over that one tiny obstacle and then they could get together and eat all the dinner and see all the movies in the world.

She felt her face blush slightly and decided it was time to get back to work. She had more than enough incentive too.

'I'll get that list,' she assured him.

He bestowed another smile on her and gently touched her hand before striding off. She watched him go, and then returned to her screen, feeling strangely energised.

He felt the same way.

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><p>xxx<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

So…she wanted him, did she?

Tony wasn't sure he'd ever expected anything less in a situation than for Michelle Dessler to take an order from him and randomly follow it up with a nervous proposal of a date right there in the bullpen. He almost hadn't responded, almost too astounded to realise she was waiting for him to say something, anything.

_I feel the same way._

Yeah, it could've been smoother. A lot smoother. In fact, to him that had been just about the very worst way of intimating his feelings to her. He'd thought about the various ways of telling her, of asking her out. They all involved being immensely suave and slightly indifferent, as though he didn't really care if she shot him down and instead _I feel the same way_ had come out, promptly followed by an agonising display of vulnerability in the highly malicious form of a Nina Myers reference.

He had not ever imagined Nina Myers to factor into any of his conversations with Michelle. In fact, he fully planned to pretend it had never happened, especially when it came to his refusal to tarnish his future relationship with Michelle (something that hadn't been at all likely until a few moments ago).

He returned to his station and for a long moment the reality of their exchange washed over him. She'd asked him out. She'd looked at him sweetly, her eyes desperately sexy and she'd made some cute joke to tease him, to put him at ease. They'd come to some sort of arrangement regarding the basic future of their city and a possible night out together if it did indeed still exist by tomorrow and then he'd walked away.

She wanted him. He'd suspected some lukewarm feelings on her part, though nothing quite so acute. He'd noticed a slight blush when talking to her, had noticed the times she'd put a curl behind her ear, had clued into her casual willingness to help him but he hadn't thought much of it. He'd suspected that he intimidated her, which explained all the violently delicious physical traits – shy gestures; things that could be mostly ignored. As for her openness to assisting him with duties and assignments…well, it was her job and she was good at it. He'd never looked into it until now.

Slowly, he was realising she really did want him. Not quite the way he wanted her, and not as badly. How could she? He was a man who barely slept, a man who considered himself in personal hell or jail or some other equally awful place just because she wasn't beside him, looking at him, loving him.

She claimed his days without knowing it, she floated around in his head at night. She was a disease to him. He couldn't get past her, couldn't get away from her, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to live his life normally when it was consumed by a small dazzling curly headed woman. He had all sorts of hopes for a relationship with her, all sorts of fantasies about what he was going to do to her when they were alone together. She did not want him as intensely as he wanted her, of that he was sure, but she did want him. It had set him aflame.

All the promises and rules he'd made for himself about post-Myers relationships, especially office ones, had subsequently burst into flames and reduced themselves to a smouldering, shitty pile of nothing. He'd often found himself wanting to give her the things she desired, and it appeared that she desired him. He'd be damned if he didn't give that to her.

Of course, he wasn't sure why she wanted him. Sure, there was something physical there. The attraction was fierce to say the least, but still…it didn't make up for so many months of poor treatment, of ignoring her, of being unfair to her, of making her doubt herself.

He'd made her doubt herself? Maybe he really was a bastard. He felt absolutely abhorrent for a few solid minutes. He'd watched her rise out of the ashes of a bombed building this morning and escort, carry and all but drag victims to safety. He'd watched her shrug off a bandage on her hand when it started getting in the way, all the easier to type and work and find this nuke with before it killed them all. He'd sent her on a proper break to change and eat and she'd reappeared a mere two minutes later in a purple top, swallowing the last of whatever she'd thrown down to keep her going. She'd explained that she wanted to be more than colleagues…and he'd spent months making her doubt herself?

He wanted to tear his hair out. What the hell was wrong with him? What had he been doing to her? She had other stressful things to contend with in life, how dare he be one of them for so long? He watched her for a moment, on the phone to the Bureau, arguing with some inept person who clearly had no appreciation of the scope of today's crisis.

Then, he left his station and strode over to her. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, he just needed to say something…something to make it right…

'Hey,' he said, the moment she ended the call.

'Uh…FBI,' she explained. 'They wanted a representative at the mosque but they've got their wires crossed.'

He nodded, not giving half a damn about the inconvenience that was the FBI. He looked away for a moment, cursing himself for not preparing something to say. What could he do? _Sorry for treating you like shit. Only did it because I'm falling for you. _

'Listen, um…what we were talking about before…'

She suddenly looked down at her keyboard, her face terribly unsure for a moment.

'Yeah, I'm sorry,' she told him hurriedly. 'I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that.'

_Yeah, don't say you're sorry. Don't ever be sorry. Just…just be quiet for a moment, I'm trying to do something here…_

'Well, no actually. Uh, I'm glad you did.'

She stared at him. He stared back. Christ, her eyes were fantastic.

'You are?' she asked quietly, as though she might've misheard.

'Yeah. There's been something hanging between us ever since you started here…'

He watched her as she straightened her spine, as though trying to repel a shiver down her back or something, and she looked away bashfully.

'Yeah,' she murmured softly, her lips curling in a way that made him feel concussed. 'Yeah there has.'

_Seriously, stop talking. I can't concentrate, woman._

He gave himself a steadying breath, hoping that he was conveying at least some of what he was feeling to her. God knew he wasn't doing it overtly, or even very well.

'I made a decision, a while ago, to try to keep personal and professional stuff separate…'

She locked her eyes with his, looking slightly unsure once more.

_Jesus, I'm trying to apologise. Please understand what I'm trying to say, please understand the reasons why I was so unfair to you…_

'But now I…'

She was smiling. The phone interrupted them, but he hadn't really known what else to say anyway so he didn't care. She was highly perceptive. He felt almost sure she'd understood his attempt at explaining himself, at saying sorry.

'There's a problem in room seven,' she informed him, replacing her receiver.

'Bob Warner?' he asked incredulously.

'Yeah. He's getting violent.'

Feeling as though Bob Warner should be held personally accountable for wrecking his moment with her, he got to his feet and stomped toward the situation room. There would be time for a proper apology later, he felt almost certain. Hell, he'd disarm this damn nuke himself if it meant they could have more time.

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><p><em>will write for opium x<em>


	13. Chapter 13

Tony gazed down at Syed Ali's body, a white sheet strewn across him.

_Great_. The guy behind the nuke was dead on his watch. Seemed like a fabulous kick off to his position as Director.

He hadn't expected George to hand him the access codes for CTU and Division. In fact, in his deteriorating state, Tony was expecting the imminent arrival of Chappelle or Hammond, coming in to take over and send George off to die alone. Instead, Tony had been made Director and George had quietly headed for the airfield, determined to not to die in vain, determined not to let Jack die needlessly.

Tony hadn't been very fixated on getting the director position before, but he had thought about it once or twice. Climbing the ranks was fairly standard within agencies like CTU and he'd imagined that one day he'd be eligible for the position, or a similar one. He just really hadn't expected it to happen today, and he hadn't expected it to be for such tragic reasons. Still though, it was good to feel trusted, as though he could be counted upon. Today was a big day, a day of crisis. They wouldn't have pushed him up into the role unless they were completely certain he would produce results.

Now, the clean-up from the nuke investigation was under way. There was civilian unrest abounds, leads to tie up, a response to prepare for. An audio had been uncovered in Ali's residence that proved the involvement of three Middle Eastern countries in the day's attack, and he felt quite certain a war would ensue. There was work to be done and CTU was under his command. He wasn't going to choke, not for anything.

He had accepted the position gratefully, despite the sadness he'd felt for George, and he hadn't really thought much about how and if it would change his life. Of course, one of the first things to happen once he'd sat down in the glass director's office upstairs was that his gaze sought out Michelle. He could watch her quite easily from here, which improved his mood slightly, until a thought struck him. He was her boss now, he proper boss. There were rules against that sort of thing, protocols that disagreed with it…it was inappropriate.

He couldn't very well shack up with an employee. It had all sorts of connotations…still though, he was hardly about to fire her to begin a relationship, and he wasn't about to pretend he didn't want her. He gave a mental shrug, slightly unsure of where they now stood.

Jack had returned to CTU safely and had witnessed the assassination of Ali, who was still lying covered on the ground, very dead.

'How the hell did anybody know we were moving him?' Tony said, feeling a knot of tension developing in the muscles in his neck.

'Half the intelligence community knew we had him in custody,' Jack argued. 'The leak could've come from anywhere.'

'I figure the shooter's gotta be connected to one of the countries implicated in the Cyprus recording, right?'

'Maybe.'

Tony looked up at him, surprised.

'What do you mean? They had the most to lose by Ali talking. Who else would it have been?'

'I don't know, but after this I'm starting to think Ali might've been telling the truth.'

For a moment, Tony was nonplussed. Then, it fell into place. Only minutes ago Michelle had returned from her preliminary interrogation of Ali to report that he maintained the audio was forged, and that she believed him. Tony had heard her out, but he hadn't indulged her. After all, he'd had a team of experts verify that the audio was without doubt a genuine recording of a conversation conspiring against their country. He couldn't ignore that, even if Michelle did have some sort of hunch. She'd spoken to a terrorist, a deranged mass murderer. The idea that he'd told the truth was laughable at best.

Besides, the investigation was wrapping up. There was nothing more to find here. The audio implicated three countries, and now it was their responsibility to take steps to prepare for that, not to waste time and resources entertaining the lies of a radical. They had other things to do, other results to produce.

He'd approached her later, to see how she was doing. Paula's replacement, Carrie, had provoked her during the meeting and he could sense some animosity between them, but it wasn't his business. All he could do was ensure that she was fine.

She'd pleaded her case, asking him to look further into the idea that the recording was forged. He'd told her they would prod Ali at Guantanamo and that was that. He knew she hadn't been happy, knew she was anxious they were about to go to war on false information, but he'd let it go. She was tired and it had been a horrendous day and it concerned him slightly that she was so fixated on a concept that had been disproved. There was no reason to chase the idea, but she was. He thought about letting her go home to rest, but he honestly couldn't afford to. He needed her here.

Now, looking at Jack, hearing him arguing the same point, he felt a strange irritated. Then, the feeling evolved into pure aggravation. She'd gone to Jack, had she? She'd decided to ignore his decision, his management choices, and go over his head to the man she knew would hear her out, the man she knew could help her, _would_ help her.

Had his ruling not been enough for her? Had she not been able to take it seriously? What did that mean? Did it mean she didn't think he was fit to be running CTU, or that he wasn't experienced or mature or qualified enough for it? Perhaps she considered Jack a far more competent choice, and so ignored Tony and took her findings to him, as though he was the Director.

He felt oddly enraged for a moment. She should've returned to him if she was really concerned about it. She should've asked him again. She didn't need to involve anyone but him, and he would've heard her out, soothed her and explained his reasoning once more.

He rejected Jack's theories, his anger coming through in his words. Calls were coming in from LAPD, the pentagon was making constant demands on them and they had a response to prepare for. The fact of the matter was that things were hectic and he had a job to do. Jealousy was the very last thing he should be feeling right now and he felt incredibly hostile toward both Jack and Michelle for causing him to feel such a petty thing.

He sent Jack on his way in no uncertain terms and then went back to work, trying to ignore the urge to call Michelle into his office and make it very clear that he was her boss, not Jack.

Then, just as he was starting to dig through the mountain of items to be reviewed in his office, he got a call from Carrie informing him that Jack Bauer was breaking protocol and taking Kate Warner out of CTU. Feeling as though this had something to do with the Cyprus recording, he went to put a stop to it himself.

Ending up with a torn ligament, a rogue agent and a missing witness was not what they needed right now, and when Carrie told him she suspected Michelle had been in on it somehow, he ignored it at first. He'd even defended her. Sure, she might've spoken to Jack about her hunch, but she wouldn't act on it, wouldn't break protocol helping him over it. He knew Michelle wasn't devious like that. She didn't do devious or deceitful things.

But then, perhaps she would? Maybe…maybe he didn't know her as well as he believed he did. Hell, that had happened to him with women before. Feeling the need to put an instant end to her disobedience, he caught her up in his office and decided to talk to her. Yes, they had both expressed feelings for each other, but that didn't mean she could ignore his orders or take advantage of that. She still had to bear the consequences of breaking protocol. She still had to listen to him like everyone else.

'Look,' he said, after she'd asked about his ankle, 'Carrie said she saw you talking to Jack right before he took Kate Warner out of CTU.'

'Yeah,' she said, looking confused. 'Is that a problem?'

'Depends on what you were talking about,' he said. 'What were you talking about?'

For a moment, she stared at him, her eyes big, and he couldn't tell what she was thinking at all. Then, she tilted her head to the side and gave him an astute sort of look.

'Are you interrogating me?' she asked, the smallest hint of flirty humour in her voice.

He eyed her carefully, feeling strangely distrustful. Was she employing flirtation to deflect his doubts of her? Was she using the knowledge of his feelings for her to quell his suspicion, to set him off the trail?

'Did you help Jack take Kate Warner out of here?'

'Of course not,' she scoffed, looking carefully affronted. 'Is that what Carrie told you? That I'm in collusion with Jack?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, I don't know what to tell you,' she said. 'She doesn't know what she's talking about.'

'Look Michelle,' he explained, trying to make his voice gentle, trying to convey his need to have her on his side, supporting him. 'It doesn't matter whether you think Jack is right or wrong. The fact is that this is my command and what happens here is my responsibility.'

'I know that,' she said.

Did she? Didn't she have any idea how much he counted on her? How much he'd hoped she would be there for him as he stepped into a role that was both terrifying and demanding?

'So I need you to be honest with me now,' he continued. 'Did you intentionally draw Agent Baker away from Kate Warner?'

'No,' she said, her voice unwavering. 'I did not.'

She was lying. He knew it. And he hated her for it.

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><p><em>Reviews feed the junkie within xx<em>


	14. Chapter 14

Michelle sat at her station, flicking through satellite images, wondering if Tony's eyes were on her, wondering if Carrie's were too. He'd gone to Carrie for help, she knew that. It was adding insult to injury: not trusting her, not believing her, and then going to Carrie to get proof of her insubordination. Still, she just had to weather the storm. There was nothing she could do. She'd made her choice…

She hadn't believed Ali either at first. She wasn't sure when she realised he was telling the truth, but she had. She had good instincts, instincts she couldn't ignore, instincts that usually protected her country.

She'd gone to Tony with it, feeling as though there were bigger things at play here than just a terrorist's lies. Some form of conspiracy maybe? She knew a lot of people had much to gain by America going to war with the Middle East. Of course, it was entirely possible she was wrong. There might be nothing more to it than a feeling and Ali's word, but still…World War Three was at stake…and she was the only person who knew, the only person with any sort of ability to stop it, or at least try to.

It would've been easier to let it go and focus on the domestic response to the planned military action, but she felt compelled to dig. How could she stand by and let something like this unfold when there were doubts attached to it? That sort of thing wasn't what she'd signed up for. She cared about her country, but what was more she cared about other countries and the risk to them as well as her own. And so she'd pushed her point with Tony…and she'd got nowhere.

He'd been made Director and while she would lament the loss of George for a long, long time to come, she was proud of him. She couldn't tell him (maybe one day) and instead told him his kind words about George and their other colleagues had been moving, and had quietly vowed to assist him however she could in their time of crisis.

Of course, she hadn't expected him to let the promotion go to his head, or to let the pressure get to him. Washington was watching CTU LA, and it was under his control. He wanted to do well, but doing "well" wasn't the same as doing what was right, especially not when Washington was concerned. He'd shot her down, saying there was nothing more to Ali's confession. Carrie had supported Tony and the expert team who'd verified the recording, and she'd ended up looking like a fool. Looking like a fool she could handle, not being able to sleep at night because she'd allowed a war to go ahead was a different matter altogether.

At the end of her tether, she'd almost lost hope. No one would listen. No one would even entertain the idea…and then, in her desperation, she'd seen Jack. At first she'd pushed the thought aside. Tony was in charge, not Jack. _It's not your place_…

But it was worth trying. Wasn't anything worth trying in this situation? She wondered what sort of consequences her hunch would have for her down the track. Perhaps they'd fire her for breaking protocol, perhaps even charge her with something. Feeling as though she'd somehow pay for this later, she collected her thoughts and quietly alerted Jack to her concerns…and he'd listened.

Then, he'd received a phone call, and an instruction to take Kate Warner away from CTU and Michelle had felt validated. There was something going on here. Why else would Jack receive that call?

Then, Jack had asked for her help and her trust and she'd given it to him. She was committed to this cause, after all she was the one who'd uncovered it from Ali in the first place. She'd drawn Baker away from the Warner woman, and Jack had removed her. It had all gone to plan, except now Jack had officially gone rogue in the eyes of CTU and Michelle was under Tony's furious scrutiny.

She felt like telling him to snap out of it. Couldn't he see past all the bureaucratic shit and just listen? Couldn't he just give the idea a chance…this was a big deal, it was worth investigating.

He'd asked her about her involvement in Kate Warner's removal. She'd looked at him, sitting in his new office, with all the strain and stress of the new job upon his shoulders, and she'd lied. It had hurt her a little, lying to him. She wasn't sure how convincing she was, or if he believed her. She was fairly certain he hadn't, which hurt even more. He was aware that she'd gone over his head and then behind his back, aware that she'd given up on him and turned to Jack…but he'd forced her hand. Still, where did that leave them?

Then, he'd dismissed her, as though she was no one, just another staffer he felt nothing for, and a strange weighty sensation had trapped itself inside her chest. She could feel his trust rapidly slipping. He was turning from her, suspecting her, using the woman she despised to catch her.

Michelle allowed herself to feel a tiny measure of despair for their fast dying relationship, something that was ending before it had even begun. _No_, she thought sadly, _don't give up on this…on us…_

But he was. She was reminding him of the Myers traitor, she could see it in his eyes. But this wasn't the same thing. Myers had done all the things she had because she had blood lust. Michelle was doing this because she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't.

Losing Tony's interest in her, having him turn from her…well, she could live with that. One day it would stop hurting, she was certain it would. One day she'd be able to look at him and not feel as though she'd lost something colossal.

Accessing the satellite images to get Jack out of trouble had been difficult, but she'd pulled hundreds and hoped Carrie wouldn't be able to pinpoint Jack's location. Then, she'd called him to tell him where the snipers were, hoping against hope he'd get out of there alive and get this evidence to the President.

Nearly running into Tony outside the bathroom had stunned her for a moment. So he'd come to confront her, had he?

'Always take a phone with you to the bathroom?'

She couldn't pretend she'd been in there for any other reason than to call Jack, and Tony knew it.

'Where's Jack?'

'I don't know.'

'Look, Michelle,' he said, oddly formal, 'you know we've been monitoring all the communication coming in and out of this building all day. Now, if you're breaking protocol –'

Breaking protocol? He wasn't concerned about that, she thought hatefully. He was concerned about being made to look bad. Concerned about being undermined.

'I'm not,' she said defiantly.

She avoided more of his questioning and pleaded angrily with him to call the President regarding the evidence Jack was obtaining.

'So you have talked to Jack?' he said quickly, bestowing her guilty verdict upon her.

'I didn't say that,' she said, and stepped around him to return to the bullpen.

His hand shot out like lightning to grip tightly around her elbow, keeping her there beside him. She gasped slightly at his touch, both shocking and painful, and felt her heart plummet slightly. There was disappointment in his eyes, disgust almost.

'Listen carefully Michelle,' he whispered menacingly into her ear, his breath on her neck. 'You don't work for Jack, you work for _me_.'

'Would you get past your ego for once –'

'Ego?' His hand tightened even harder around her arm at that. 'I've got a job to do here, you don't like the way I'm doing it, that's your problem, but if you know anything about Jack Bauer you better tell me about it right now.'

_I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't. Not while you're being like this. _

'I have no information,' she said robotically. 'I'm not helping Jack.'

Her eyes left his and travelled down to his hand, still furiously encircling her elbow. He finally loosened his grip and drew away, his thumb trailing her skin slightly, though perhaps she merely imagined it.

'I hope you're not lying to me.'

She was. She knew it. He knew it. And when LAPD called in the shooting at the warehouse and everything had come out in the open, he'd accepted her apology without really accepting it at all. She had been helping Jack. That was no longer secret. But there was also real evidence to be obtained and that was no longer a secret either, and Tony was slowly getting on board, slowly seeing the errors he'd made in not giving it (and her) a chance.

She was glad he was coming round, happy he was devoting resources to it and he'd even called the President, but he hadn't really forgiven her, and it was tugging at her, eating at her.

Danny's highly inappropriate visit to CTU had thrown her. He'd spotted Carrie, and everything had come crumbling down. They pulled him away, had him sedated, and Carrie was being seen to by the medic.

Michelle slunk away from the scene, feeling distraught, feeling unhinged. This was too much. A nuclear bomb. Losing so many colleagues. Paula's death, and then George's. Having to work with Carrie. Lying to Tony. Feeling him pull away from her until he was practically gone altogether. The only good thing, the only positive thing to happen in the day, the whole damn year in fact, was gathering the courage to tell him she wanted to be with him and learning that he wanted the same thing. It had sent her soaring…and now it was as though they didn't know each other, as though he'd never wanted her at all.

She went to give herself a much needed moment in an unused corridor, and heard the clack of his crutches as he came to see her. She'd tried to hide her tears, tried to keep him out, but she loved him and had just lost him and she couldn't be strong anymore. Not now, at least.

She babbled a little about Danny, about the bomb and the Cyprus recording, but they weren't the real reasons behind her emotion. The real reason was standing in front of her, watching her, listening to her. He was standing very close…almost too close in fact. He still smelt good, still warmed her…none of that had changed.

Then, he drew her toward him and she'd lost her breath. He hugged her and she felt small in his arms, and safe, and all the things she'd always imagined she would feel if he ever held her close. He said things into her ear to soothe her as the flood gates opened and she told him how scared she was. His hand splayed firmly across her spine at this, pressing her into his chest. Then he pulled away, his hands cupping her face tenderly, brushing back her askew curls as he searched out her eyes.

She shuddered slightly. He couldn't do this. He couldn't come this close, couldn't give her this teasing taste of what he felt like, couldn't show her all the things she could've had with him…

His hand was gliding across her cheek now, thumbing at her skin, and her heart was beating wildly. He was touching her. Nothing had ever felt so good. Nothing.

She looked up to find his eyes boring into hers. His hand was resting against her neck now, this thumb tracing feather light lines across the skin beneath her ear. She was trembling…and their gazes stuck. He stayed close, eyes roaming slowly over her face, dipping down to her lips and back up again.

She wanted to look away, but he demanded her gaze. He always did.

_Do it_, she found herself thinking. _Just one kiss. One kiss to keep. That's all. _

_You've lost him, you've got nothing more to lose here…so do it. Kiss him._

Throwing caution to the wind and not giving a damn, she laid her hand against his roughened cheek, pressed in closer and fused her lips to his. Something insane, something _crazy_, crashed through her the second she did. It felt like falling and flying and dying all at once. He tasted so good. So, so good. His mouth was warm and delicious, the way it always looked to her, his lips soft, edible almost. She pawed at his face, hugging him to her, adoring the feel of his stubble beneath her fingertips. Aware that her body was tingling, that furious currents of desire and longing and sadness were jolting through her, she drew even closer, needing to meld her body against his. She was hungry for him, hungry for more, for all of him.

She nibbled again at him, and, as she did, she realised they were still in the corridor at CTU. She pulled back suddenly, knowing she needed to stop herself before this got any more out of hand…

'I'm sorry,' she choked out, meaning it in more ways than one. 'I'm sorry.'

She'd barely finished the phrase when she felt his hands on her face. He nudged her head back, tilted his own and drew her in, warm lips together once more; a perfect fit. This shocked her, confused her even, before she realised in the midst of her mingled bliss and despondency that Tony must be kissing her back…

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><p><em>xx<em>


	15. Chapter 15

He felt her pulling back from him, and every nerve in his body roared in vehement protest. _We're not done here yet._

'I'm sorry,' she murmured breathlessly. 'I'm sorry.'

I'm sorry? _He_ was the sorry one. Sorry for ignoring her professional opinion, sorry for pushing her aside, sorry for allowing his jealousy to cloud his mind. The moment she'd teamed up with Jack Tony had felt a rush of memories return to him, memories of all the ways Nina had played Jack and himself off each other to get what she wanted. He'd felt as though Michelle was Nina all over again, keeping secrets from him, not letting him in, dodging his scrutiny and going to Jack because he wasn't good enough. He'd felt angry she'd abandoned his authority, furious because Jack had no business getting involved in what was between them, or threatening the way they felt for each other.

He was sorry for forgetting everything he knew about her, sorry for forgetting her dedication to her country, sorry for putting her in the same category as Myers. He was sorry that Carrie was there to torment her, sorry he'd alienated her, sorry he'd followed her to the bathroom, sorry he'd grabbed her. Oh god, he'd gripped her so tightly. He'd hurt her. He was sorry for that, more than anything.

He'd come to see if she was alright, afraid she'd shove him away. She hated him, he was sure of it. He'd turned from her when she needed him most, he'd caused her to break protocol, he'd made her feel like she was doing something wrong…she hadn't been. She'd been doing something very right, and now, as they came closer to this evidence, he felt certain she'd been right all along.

He knew their agreement to become something outside of work was off. He shown her she couldn't trust him, had shown her he valued his ego over her judgement. He'd come to calm her, come to be close to her, possibly for the last time. They were done, and it was killing him. He wanted to apologise, to ask her to want him once more, but she wouldn't and he knew that. All he could do was steal a moment with her, and keep it for good.

Then, she'd shown him the sort of raw emotion he had a feeling she'd never shown anyone, and she'd allowed him to cradle her in his arms. She felt good. Insanely good and god, she was soft. Her hair smelled sweet, and her body was warm and his mind was going into overload. He held her face gently in his hands, feeling as though he needed so much more of her, when he caught a strange look in her eyes. For a moment she did nothing, and he felt a little ashamed of himself. He shouldn't be here, holding her to him, deriving so much bliss from her moment of sorrow, so much pleasure, pleasure he knew he'd hold onto for a very long time. But then, he didn't care that it was inappropriate, didn't even care that he was taking advantage of her emotion. They were over now, and he wanted to hold her. He wanted one thing to take with him, even if it was just the momentary feel of her in his arms.

Then she'd kissed him, and he'd been stunned. His brain seemed to go numb and his body burned furiously. He had not expected it…had never expected it and… she was exquisite. He'd never had such an intense, all-consuming reaction to a kiss before. It was just a kiss, and yet he felt as though he was exploding, as though he wanted to hurl her closer and somehow chain them together, so this could go on and on. He'd wanted to kiss her for such a long time, and now…now it was happening, and he felt as though he'd been shot into space.

She was an incredible kisser and she probably had no idea. That'd be like her, he thought tenderly, to be an erotic, man-destroying bombshell and never even know it. Her lips thrilled him, and he wanted to bite at them, to draw them further between his, to dab his tongue upon them. One of her beautiful hands held his face, and then cupped the back of his neck, brushing over his hair, and he felt his legs go a little weak.

Maybe she still wanted him. Maybe she was forgiving him. She wouldn't kiss him like this, so hotly, so feverishly, unless she did.

'I'm sorry.'

That had been the final straw really. He'd lost all self-restraint at that.

_Fine, be sorry. Hell, be whatever you want, as long as you don't stop kissing me. _

He knew she needed to be kissed back, just as intensely. She needed to know how badly he wanted her, how hard he'd fallen for her, how perfect and good and strong he thought she was.

He nudged her head back and claimed her lips brazenly, tasting them, upping the passion and she reciprocated in kind, delighting him to no end. She let out a small breathy sound, the likes of which almost made him see stars, and he dragged her even closer, aligning their bodies, feeling all of her against all of him.

He wanted to hug her again, to talk to her and tell her some of the things running through his mind, so he allowed their kiss to reach its natural and ardent end with a final few nips at her moist top lip. He held her face once more, trapping her against the wall, and rested his forehead against hers. She was so close, and she was looking at him, catching her breath. She hadn't pushed him away, in fact she'd only held him closer. Tony knew they were back on. Things between them were still on, and he felt overwhelmed with excitement, overwhelmed with possibility.

'Tony?' came a very undesirable voice. 'Chapelle's looking for you.'

_Shit. _The desire to talk to her, to tell her how he felt vanished instantly. Carrie had seen them. She might've even watched them. That was terrifically bad, and he felt strangely protective of Michelle now, more than ever. Carrie was going to find some way to use this against her, he could feel it.

He glanced at her. She looked horrified, unsure, confused.

_No,_ he thought. _The only undesirable thing that happened here was Carrie. You must know that._

He fought the urge to drop a parting kiss on her cheek, or neck, or shoulder, knowing they didn't have time. They didn't have time to talk about it either. They hadn't even really had time to kiss, but they had, and now they needed to get back to work.

He was grateful he had a spare moment after Chapelle's highly irritating phone call, and he looked down at Michelle, hunched over her computer, looking frail and stressed. He found himself dialling her extension, not knowing what to say, only that he wanted to hear her voice.

Michelle felt her heart rate quicken when she heard it was Tony on the line. Oh god, she thought unhappily. She needed to say something, to exercise some sort of damage control, to give him an out before it all became even more embarrassing, if that was possible.

'Look, um…about what happened before, um…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –'

'No, don't, don't,' he cut across her.

She went silent, confused.

'Don't be sorry,' he continued, sincerity in his warm, whispered voice. 'I'm not.'

Michelle felt heat course through her. He didn't hate her. He'd kissed her back, quite fiercely. He wanted her, she could tell. And now…now they were back on. Things were back on track. It felt almost as though nothing had changed. There would still be dinner and movie.

She looked up at him.

'Really?'

He met her gaze, his dark eyes holding hers.

'Really.'

* * *

><p><em>opium makes the world go round x<em>


	16. Chapter 16

For a long time, Michelle's gaze was locked on the ceiling. She was lying on her bed, still in her purple top, though she'd taken her skirt off, and several hours had passed. She'd dozed a little, not able to fall asleep completely, and now she'd given up. Sleep would come eventually, she thought tiredly, no use trying to make it happen.

The new shift, a team of temps and patch-ups from Division, had arrived at CTU and she'd filled them in on the situation. Jack had been taken to a hospital, and Peter Kingsley had been uncovered as the man behind the nuke. The planes had been called back from their Middle Eastern targets and the charges against herself and Tony had been dropped…

Sitting in a CTU holding room had been an interesting experience to say the least. Of course, they'd had no choice. The situation with the evidence, with Jack and Alex Hewitt, had become dire. Drugging Chapelle had been entirely necessary, but she could still feel her heart pounding from when she'd called him into the room and watched Tony struggle to bring him down. She hadn't really thought then about the trouble they would be in later, she'd only thought about the planes dropping their retaliatory bombs on innocent countries.

Being arrested and escorted from the CTU van been strangely unmoving. They'd marched her back through the bullpen and deposited her in the holding room, where she'd looked up to find Tony waiting. He was sitting against the table, his arms crossed, and his eyes had flown up to meet hers. They both knew how bad it was. Their careers were over. They were going to be put on trial, they were going to prison for a long time and yet, somehow, it had been worth it. Peace was worth it.

'_Michelle, no one can prove you knew what I was going to do to Chapelle. Now, I'm just gonna tell them you were helping Jack under my orders, alright?'_

She hadn't expected that. She'd never expected anything less, really. This whole thing had started with her. She knew that. She also knew she should be the one suffering the consequences of going against CTU, of going against Chapelle and Washington. She would be the one to take the fall, or as much of it as she'd be allowed to, and yet Tony had sat there beside her and given her a casual way out.

For a moment, his words had failed to permeate her mind. _What?_ What was he saying exactly? That he'd assume all the responsibility? That she'd be released, having done apparently nothing more than following her superior's orders, and then she'd be allowed to go back to the bullpen – back to her life – as though nothing had happened at all?

Michelle couldn't even remember receiving flowers from a man before, and there was Tony, prepared to go down alone for her, all the while pretending it was nothing. It had been terribly hard not to make some sort of contact with him then. He had no idea about any of this, but Michelle's past had been fraught with people who had no trouble leaving her, or letting her down, or heaping undue responsibility on her. She and Tony…well, they weren't even a thing yet, and still…he'd offered her everything, taking nothing in return.

All she could do, the _best_ she could do, was reject him with as much conviction as she could muster, and then take his hand. She wanted to do more, wanted to feel more of him, but there was a camera and any such move would be very dangerous.

He'd gripped her fingers firmly, and they'd stayed there together for a long while, wondering how things were going outside, and if Jack was still in play. She knew prison was on his mind, just as it was on hers. She wondered how long they'd get. It was terrifying her, though she didn't show it.

'We'll write.'

She looked at him.

'What?'

He gave her a tired grin.

'From prison,' he muttered. 'We'll write…y'know, if they let us.'

He looked at her, hoping for a smile or even a little laugh, and she tried to give him one, but failed. He seemed to understand, and, after giving her hand a final squeeze, left her side to stretch his legs. She wondered what it would be like, letting time pass in prison, knowing he was doing exactly the same in another facility somewhere; together and yet so far apart.

He'd tried to absolve her again, this time without consulting her, when Chapelle barged into their holding room. She'd plainly stated she could defend herself, annoyed that he was attempting to take the matter beyond her control, but Chapelle had shot them both down, asking to be put in touch with Jack. Watching Tony take in the request, she could see his mind churning. He presented his terms to Chapelle, that both he and Michelle be released and reinstated, in writing, and to her astonishment Chapelle had agreed. They were then removed from the holding cell, free to go.

The rest of the morning had only validated them further, proving that the Cyprus recording was indeed fake and that their country was on the cusp of going to war for no reason. Chapelle had been put in his place, and President Palmer reinstated. They'd been allowed to go home, and Michelle had stood before Tony as he expressed his gratitude to her, and told her he'd see her tomorrow. It had been strangely awkward between them. All she wanted was to go somewhere with him, preferably quiet and dark, and be with him as the day washed away into a memory. They were linked now through their experiences, though their brushes with death, with the truth, with prison. Holding off from each other seemed to be making it only worse, and it was no surprise she'd lain awake in her room ever since dropping a very disgruntled Danny off at his apartment.

It was slowly getting dark outside, and Michelle glanced in the direction of the bathroom, knowing she ought to shower, or eat something, or at the very least get up if she wasn't going to catch up on sleep. Just as she was coercing herself into making a move her phone started to ring. She blinked, wondering if it was CTU, wondering if it was Danny, or (her stomach gave an odd, uncomfortable flutter) if it was Tony. She raised her head from her pillow, glancing around the room, looking for it. Seeing her bag dumped by the doorway, she gingerly lifted herself from the bed and went to answer it.

'Dessler,' she said, hoping her voice wasn't too rough from fatigue or lack of use.

'Hey, it's…it's me.'

Tony listened to several moments of silence on her end.

'Hey,' she said, her tired, warm voice soothing him to the core.

'Did I wake you?'

'No,' she told him, and he knew she wasn't lying. 'Haven't really slept yet.'

'Yeah,' he said. 'I haven't either. Listen, its fine if you're too tired but… uh, do you want to grab dinner or –

'Yeah.'

She'd agreed before he'd even really finished, and though her voice was quiet and tired, he felt grateful. He wanted to be with her tonight, and had worried that she'd either be asleep or not feeling up to it. From the sounds of it, she felt the same way he did, wanting to be together no matter how weary they were. It was a necessity almost. Being apart after the day they had, after all they come through together, seemed unnatural.

'Okay. Good. I'll come get you in half an hour, alright?'

'Alright.'

'Okay. Sit tight. See you soon.'

'Bye.'

He dropped his phone onto his couch beside him, feeling at a loss. So they were going to dinner. In half an hour. He hadn't really thought through to the other side of the conversation when he'd started it. All he'd known was that they were seeing each other tonight, so he'd better ring her and run it by her first before he showed up unexpectedly. Moving toward the shower, he discarded his ankle brace and washed off hours and hours worth of grit and grime, feeling strangely edgy.

Women didn't make him nervous. None of his old girlfriends ever had. Still though, things with Michelle were different. They had been right from the start, right from the first time he saw her, though he hadn't known it. He felt himself give a crooked smile amid the steam, wondering if he'd ever tell her he first mistook his attraction to her for distaste, and if she'd wear her hair down for him tonight. He wanted her to. He'd never seen it down and just the thought alone electrified him.

He towelled off, ignoring his razor because he didn't have time to shave, and threw on jeans and a black shirt, feeling as though tonight was hardly going to be formal, or even dressy. They were just going to have a quick, quiet dinner. He just wanted to sit across from the woman and be with her. He didn't even care if they had nothing to talk about. He just wanted to see her, to sit there with her.

They lived a fair distance from each other, and he left with fifteen minutes to spare, wondering if she was the type who cared about lateness, or even noticed it. He'd looked up her address in her file, and after a few minutes of driving in circles, he found a cluster of tiny brick town houses. Hers was tucked away at the side, quaint and small and private, and he found himself picturing her moving around inside it. Aware that he was ten minutes late, just as he'd expected he would be, he parked and made his way up the small flight of steps to her porch, taking a moment to bunch his hands into firm fists, telling himself it was just Michelle, his friend, his colleague. It didn't really shock him to find the thought did nothing to quash his nerves at all.

He knocked softly, wondering again if her hair would be down. He almost hoped not. If so, he was fairly certain he'd abandon all caution in an instant and drag her into his arms, totally without thought, without control.

She opened the door, and his breath returned to him. It was clipped back neatly at her neck. She was also without shoes.

'Hey,' she said, sounding fractionally more energetic that she had over the phone. 'Give me a second, I'm running a little late.'

Then she closed the door, leaving him on the porch. He felt annoyed for a moment. He'd been looking at her, and wanted the privilege returned to him. Then he realised she had no jacket on, or makeup, and probably wanted to get herself together before letting him in, which elicited a small chuckle from him.

Two minutes later, the door was opened again.

'Sorry,' she murmured, not meeting his eyes. 'Needed a moment.'

Tony took her in. She was wearing a casual sort of skirt, pretty black shoes, and a dark red top with a jacket over it. He gazed at her. Did she know what happened to him when she wore red? Did she have any idea how much he loved her in it?

'S'okay,' he said, watching her lock the door. 'Half an hour was pushing it.'

She turned to him, looking suddenly calm and under control, and they watched each other under the dim porch light. Without really thinking, Tony stepped forward and drew her close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hugging her to his chest. Her trapped hands gradually slid up and wove around his neck, holding him lightly. It was just a hug, but it spoke measures, and he felt all his uncertainty disappear, leaving only warmth in it's place.

They drew back after a moment, again avoiding each other's gazes, and descended the steps to his car.

'Passed a place a few streets back,' he told her, opening the door for her and feeling like an idiot, but not caring. 'Looks alright.'

'Sounds good,' she said, watching him close the door on her, feeling quietly enamoured with his gesture, intuitively knowing it wasn't one he'd performed often before.

The radio played along quietly, and Michelle felt keenly aware of him beside her. His sleeves were rolled up at the elbows, and he smelled good, as though he'd dabbed on the tiniest trace of musky aftershave after his shower. He looked good too, she thought, feeling as though the attraction between them had been wildly exacerbated by the thrill and shock of seeing each other in casual attire, something that had never happened before. Jeans looked good on him. Really good.

No, she thought quickly. Tonight wasn't about that. It wasn't even really about them. It was about the day they'd just had, about being there for each other. Thinking about how good he looked and smelled was just going to worsen her already debilitating desire to have him kiss her and touch her and hold her again, like he had when she'd stepped out onto her porch. She wasn't sure what sort of greeting she'd been expecting, but to be trapped firmly in his arms for several seconds wasn't it. He'd felt hard and muscular and she'd breathed him in, cursing him for putting her in such a state so early on.

The restaurant was mostly empty, something they both felt grateful for, and the waiter left them alone with menus and a wine list. They both placed their orders and when Michelle glanced up for the first time she caught Tony watching her, only to drop his gaze, looking slightly caught out. She wondered for a moment what it would feel like to be completely at ease with him. Right now, she felt very on edge. Being with him, alone with him, away from work, at night, was big deal. She'd wanted it for a long time, had thought it, fantasised about it even, and had never really considered that it might one day happen. But it was. It was happening now. He was sitting there, looking mostly at ease, staring at her hands, though he didn't think she was aware.

She cleared her throat softly, and his eyes shot up. She wasn't sure what the fascination was with her hands, but she didn't mind it. She didn't mind it at all really.

'How's Danny?' he asked, looking irritated at himself for being caught out staring again.

'He's…well, he's Danny,' she told him. 'Mad at me. Mad at Carrie. He'll come round though.'

Tony nodded, watching her carefully.

'Now I understand those phone calls,' he said.

'Phone calls?'

'Yeah, I didn't know what they were about before, but … he seems like he gives you trouble pretty often.'

She nodded.

'It's hard for him. He's lost a lot of people, a lot of his life. He can't lose me. I'm the last he has, I think.'

Tony nodded, and she admired his olive skin, dark and delicious in the warm restaurant lighting.

'Still though,' he said. 'You've got enough to deal with. CTU is enough for anyone.'

'I don't mind,' she murmured. 'I haven't got much family, so we stick together. It's been hard watching him fall apart, hard watching him lose his kids. And when I found him that morning in his place…'

She trailed off and felt like an idiot for managing to bring up the most heartbreaking moment of her life during their first date.

'You found him?' Tony asked, his voice soft. 'When he…it was you who found him?'

'Yeah,' she nodded, trying to look as though she wasn't profoundly affected by the memory. 'Wasn't a great day.'

'No,' he agreed.

His hand moved slightly across the table, and Michelle knew he wanted to take her own. He seemed to decide against it for whatever reason, and she felt both relieved and disappointed. She couldn't take too much of his touch tonight. Not if she wanted to be able to control herself.

'I like the red,' he said, his voice low.

'The red?'

'Yeah,' he explained. 'Red's your colour. I've… uh…I've thought that for a while.'

She couldn't completely stifle a small smile, thankful that he'd tried to cheer her up and steer her away from the painful subject. Their food arrived and they busied themselves with eating for a while, and when Tony glanced up it was Michelle's turn to feel caught out. He grinned internally. She'd been watching him.

'You going to apply for my old job?' he asked her.

She nodded.

'Yeah, though I wonder if they'll give it to me, especially after Chapelle…'

Tony shrugged.

'I think they will,' he said seriously. 'They seem a bit scared of us at the moment, a bit intimidated by the success of what we pulled off. Like we're the dream team or something. They don't want to mess with it.'

'Well, I'm glad,' she asked, smiling. 'We…we've got something going at work.'

He nodded.

'Mason was onto it when he stuck us in the situation room,' he said. 'I think he knew we'd get results if we worked together.'

She nodded again, feeling a great aching sadness for Mason, but also feeling strengthened by the mention of him. Sure, it was a tension filled date, a date with long breaks in the jilted conversation and even longer looks, but it was still the best date she'd ever been on and it was thanks to George. She wondered if she'd ever tell Tony that it had been George who encouraged her to seek happiness, George who'd encouraged her to seek him.

'How's the ankle?' she asked, noticing that he'd ditched the crutches.

'Fine,' he lied. 'Getting pretty over this brace though.'

'You should go easy on it,' she said. 'Jack packs a mean punch.'

He glared sinisterly at her for a moment, and she gazed back, a teasing smile on her lips.

'How's your food?' he asked after a while.

She frowned at her plate for a moment.

'Not…not great, unfortunately,' she said.

'Yeah, mine's pathetic,' he said. 'Doesn't really matter though.'

She looked away, feeling the same. She wasn't there for the food. She wasn't even hungry.

'We've got funerals to go to in the next few weeks,' he said unexpectedly. 'I'd like to go with you. If that's alright.'

She swallowed and nodded sadly.

'Yeah, I'd like that too.'

'Good.'

They both pushed away their plates and simultaneously sat back in their chairs, feeling ever so slightly more relaxed.

'Have you heard much about Jack?' she asked him.

He shrugged. 'I called his daughter, she said he's doing alright. Might go and see him when he's home in a few days.'

'Do you think CTU will reinstate him?'

Another shrug. 'Who's to say? No one at Division has ever been a big fan of his, but he gets results. They can't argue with that. I think they will, but they won't make it easy for him.'

'So, there's going to be restructuring, obviously.'

'Obviously.'

'May I ask for a favour?'

Tony stared at her for a long moment, and she wondered if her blush was noticeable, and then wondered why she was blushing at all. Perhaps because his look told her she already knew the answer to her question.

'What?' he asked quietly.

'Can we please get rid of Carrie? Forever?'

His mouth twitched at the corners.

'Consider it done,' he told her, his voice even more of a whisper.

'Thanks.'

She sipped her water for a moment, and then realised she'd forgotten to do something.

'Congratulations,' she said softly. 'You know, for the promotion.'

'Oh,' he said, looking contrite. 'Well…after yesterday I'm beginning to think you would've been a wiser choice.' He then appraised her seriously. 'I'm sorry for the way I acted after George left. I was out of line.'

'No, it's okay,' she said quickly.

'It's not. I should've listened.'

'You did when it mattered,' she said. 'That's what's important. Before then you had no reason to, no evidence. I'd have done the same thing.'

He laughed quietly at her.

'You wouldn't have,' he said.

Michelle then realised they were both leaning in over the table, their faces close, their hands within inches.

'I uh…I'm also sorry for putting _this_ off,' he said, his words muttered and coarse, barely distinguishable. 'I should've told you how I felt about you a long time ago. A year ago, really.'

Michelle stared at him blankly for several seconds. She knew her blush was in full form now, and felt like a frazzled fool. She felt furious at him for saying something like that, something that assaulted her senses in that way, that made her that much more aware of his physical presence. He couldn't do that, couldn't tease her in such an excruciating way.

'Was that why you weren't so nice?' she asked, feeling immensely embarrassed by her audacity.

He laughed again, a coarse, quiet sound that dived into her chest and made her shiver.

'You uh…figured it out, hey?'

'Took a while,' she admitted. 'Wasn't sure what the reason was at first.'

'Yeah, well, I was out of the game for good…and then you showed up. You wrecked all my plans. I had good cause to be annoyed.'

She smiled.

'Why? Because I came to work every day?'

'Because you made me want you,' he explained darkly, his eyes on the table. 'Badly. So yeah, you coming to work every day…for me that was pretty annoying.'

He then turned from her and signalled for the waiter to bring the check. Michelle felt stuck to her chair, goosebumps furiously trailing her arms and legs, and watched him dig some cash out of his wallet. She finally found her voice.

'Here,' she said, fishing in her bag for her money. When she found it she looked up to find Tony had already sent the waiter on his way.

'It's fine,' he told her. 'You ready to go? I'd suggest catching that movie we talked about but…'

'I'm not sure I'm in the mood,' she told him, feeling as though sitting through a movie would be torture, though she didn't want to leave him just yet.

'Yeah,' he nodded. 'Maybe just head home?'

She nodded, though she felt slightly disappointed. She wanted more with him, more time. But, as they climbed into his car and headed for her place, she knew there would be more dates to come, dates when they weren't so exhausted, or so on edge with each other. At least, she hoped they wouldn't be so on edge…

He pulled into her place, opened her door and escorted her up the steps to her porch, where the dim light still glowed. She suddenly felt an attack of nerves strike her. It was the end of their date. Yes, it had just been a tired dinner, nothing special at all, and yet…were they allowed to kiss? Did a short dinner with terrible food and terrifically tense conversation deserve that? Maybe it wasn't appropriate. Maybe it was a bit too soon after yesterday…

She watched him, standing close to her, watching her in return. His features seemed darker than usual in the poor lighting, and she felt inexplicably drawn to him, as though the idea of sending him on his way and going inside without first feeling his lips on hers was absurd.

The moment stretched on, time passing conspicuously, and his eyes flickered leisurely over her, taking in her neat hair, her eyes, her mouth, her neck. She felt incredibly impatient, and he seemed to know that, and still, he did nothing, as though he was teasing her, as though he enjoyed torturing her.

Then his hand moved between them and took hers, caressing it lightly with his fingers. She looked down at them, joined in the most innocent way, and felt warmed to the core by him. He looked back at her, searching out her gaze, and she leant back against her door, surveying him coyly.

'I…uh,' he muttered, looking marginally unnerved.

She drew on his hand, only a little, and he came slightly closer. He seemed unsure, seemed concerned it wasn't the right time, and he brushed his thumb against her palm, as though asking her to tell him. She felt his touch, and it stole through her. In that moment, she felt everything. She felt the year they'd spent avoiding each other, the year they'd spent shooting covert gazes, the year they'd spent trying not to make their feelings known, trying to ignore and suffocate their attraction. She felt the fear she'd experienced last night at losing him, at going against him, the delight she'd felt when they'd kissed, the excitement at being told he wasn't sorry. She felt the sacrifice he'd been so willing, so ready, to make for her and knew that for as long as she lived no one would ever offer to do anything quite as magnificent for her again.

'It's your turn,' she told him, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He understood her meaning perfectly, closed the gap between them and cupped her face in his hands, his mouth less than an inch from hers. Feeling her heart accelerate madly, she tried not to move, or breathe, or do anything which might alert him to her flurry of excitement. His lips were close, so close, and she was hungry for them.

'You're right,' he breathed, and sealed his mouth around hers.

The feeling she'd experienced the night before, a feeling so intense it felt like fireworks had been let off inside her chest, returned with a vengeance. He moved gently against her mouth, tasting her, nibbling softly, and she heard herself give an indulgent, involuntary sigh of pleasure. This seemed only to embolden him, because he increased the intensity, his mouth opening against hers. She responded in kind with her tongue, flicking out to greet his, and it was his turn to groan into her mouth. Then, feeling encouraged, she bit down upon his bottom lip, and, realising much too late that it'd been too hard, she felt him jerk back slightly in her arms.

_Oh, god. _

'I'm…I'm sorry,' she whispered, feeling her face flush. '…didn't mean to…'

She tried to look into his eyes, but he was too close for her to focus on. Then, she felt his grip tighten on her, and he returned his mouth to her lips, as though her little mistake had done something to him, something very serious. She tried to keep up with him, tried to match his sudden ferocity, but she felt weak with desire, and he was making it so much worse.

She wasn't sure who opened her door, nor was she sure if she pulled him inside, or if he pulled her. All she knew was that he wasn't leaving yet and he seemed to know it too.

* * *

><p><em>will write for opium<em>


	17. Chapter 17

Tony kicked the door closed behind them, his lips not leaving hers for a moment as they meandered as one into the darkness of her home. Her hands were gripping his shirt collar tightly, holding him to her, and his hands were expanded across the small of her back, drawing her in as forcefully as he could without having to wonder if he was hurting her. There was not an iota of free space between their bodies. It was as though they were welded together, her breasts crushed against the hard planes of his chest.

They fumbled around, swaying and trying to keep their balance without parting company, their lips meeting sloppily in their frantic haste, their kisses basic and unsophisticated. Tony was even fairly certain he missed her mouth altogether at times, his lips affixing themselves to her chin or cheek instead. He didn't really care. Lips, skin. It was all delicious.

She'd bit him. It'd had stung, and he been startled by it. Still though…she'd bit him. Yeah, it had been a little painful…but she'd bit _him_. Him. Not some other guy. Not some other man. Him. He wondered if she'd ever bit boyfriends before, wondered if it was something she did as a part of her routine, or if she'd tried to be sexy just for him, and had overdone it. _Please god_, let it be the latter. It _was_ the latter. He could feel it. He could see it in her beautifully red cheeks and the warm blush on her chest. The bite had been just for him, and sent him spiralling out of control. He wondered if she could feel how hard he'd become the moment she'd done it. Probably, though she didn't seem concerned or put off by it. In fact, she seemed enormously unconcerned by it, and continued feasting on his lips.

She'd apologised for hurting him, and he'd felt the overpowering urge to bring the whole damn thing to a grinding halt and firmly inform her that she wasn't allowed to apologise. Not to him. Not for anything. He would have it, didn't _want_ to hear it. He wanted her to bite him. He wanted her to do whatever she felt like doing. _Be you_, he found himself silently imploring her. _Just be you, and don't apologise, and let me just enjoy it, for christ's sake._

Her mouth was soft, and full, and delectable, and he had to take a moment to properly appreciate that it was gnawing at his own. Holy shit. They were standing in her place, in the dark, gripping each other and kissing as though they no longer required oxygen to live, only the taste of each other.

He felt her hand leave his collar and flail around for a second before she managed to hit a light switch. A lamp by the entry came on, barely illuminating them let alone the rest of the living room, and her hand travelled back to his chest where it lay comfortably upon his pectoral, as though claiming it as she nibbled at the corner of his mouth.

Tony had had enough during dinner. At one point he'd realised he couldn't sit across from her for much longer, with her hands on the table and her eyes tired yet smiling, eyes that were only on him. She'd teased him about being rude to her for so long, and he'd come out with the cold hard truth. It was because he wanted her, in just about every imaginable way. He'd watched her face change slightly after his confession, watched a slight tremble come across her fingers, and he knew he had to get out of there. She was trouble. There was no doubt about it. The power she held over him was frankly frightening.

He hadn't planned on kissing her. Of course, he hadn't planned on standing with her on her porch either, or taking her hand, or fighting against himself to just turn away. She'd informed him that it was his turn, and he knew she was right, and that trying to fight against it was futile.

He had been content just to kiss her. It drove him a little crazy, just as it had last night, and she was still sweet and delicious and all the things he couldn't stop thinking about. He could have walked away then, could have been able to bid her goodnight and happily put several very safe miles between them, but she'd bit his lip and well…now they were in her living room, more or less wrestling with each other, trying to bring more of themselves into contact with the other.

Michelle teetered slightly in his arms, and a soft moan escaped her. She broke away to suck in a breath, and felt Tony clasp her face between his hands. He gave her exactly enough time to fill her lungs with oxygen before he pressed his tongue deeply into her mouth, his grip tightening on her jaw, holding her still for him to explore. She did nothing for a moment, overcome with the feel of him plundering her open mouth. He had complete control, tilting her head to change the angel, sweeping further into her mouth, allowing for deeper infiltration, and all she could do was gently brush the underside of his tongue with her own, delighting in his taste, in his invasion of her.

He hummed longingly and she gasped a little when he pressed himself against her with more force. She felt dizzy. What were they doing? This…this was out of control. This wasn't just kissing. Kissing was what had happened between them last night. This wasn't even in the same range as that. This was furious, frantic, abandoned. He had her suspended against him, pinned to him, and he was ravaging her, with no signs of stopping, no hint of inhibition.

He brought his tongue to meet her bottom lip and played the two against each other, and she breathed deeply, feeling secure in what she suspected was the tightest grip anyone had ever had her in before. She could feel a year between them, a year of need and wanting spilled out in the open. They had nothing to hide anymore. He wanted her. She badly wanted him. Now they were free to show each other and the floodgates had been well and truly opened.

At some point, she felt him backing her up across the carpet, his mouth leaving her lips to launch a moist assault across the curve of her neck, and she sighed in ecstasy. Passion, she thought suddenly. That was what this was. That was what he was giving her. It was in that moment that she realised she'd never experienced the sensation before. She'd never felt passion for anyone, and no one had ever really offered it to her. Until now.

Her feet left the carpet floor for a moment, and she came out of her trance to realise he'd found the couch. He was sitting on it, and he'd brought her with him, arranging her limbs so she was straddling his lap, and his arms returned to their locked position around her waist, his tongue finding her collarbone. Her fingers threaded into his hair, massaging his head, keeping him as close as she could as he sampled her skin over and over again.

She was wrapped up in him, and for the first time she felt entirely in sync with another person. He'd seen all the things she'd seen, he'd suffered the same losses, felt the same fear. He knew her, in a way no one else did. They weren't even very close…or at least they hadn't been until yesterday, and still, she felt as though they'd been waiting for each other their whole lives.

'T-Tony,' she murmured, her eyes closed as his teeth grated lightly against her shoulder, his warm hands cupping her hips.

'Mmm?'

'I…thank you,' she whispered.

'For what?' he muttered, his lips suckling on the soft patch of skin beneath her ear.

'For…you were… ohhh, that's so nice,' she moaned, distracted from her thoughts. She felt him increase the rapaciousness of the love bite.

'You were going to take the fall,' she tried again. 'With Ch-Chapelle…and I…'

'S'nothing, Michelle,' he growled into her ear.

'No,' she mumbled, shivering slightly as his hot breath tickling her skin. 'It was something. It…it meant something and I…thank you.'

'You didn't take me up on it,' he reminded her.

'I never would have,' she said. 'But I –'

'You don't belong in prison,' he interrupted her firmly. 'I couldn't let…look, just shhh. It doesn't really matter now, does it?'

For a moment he leaned back from her and looked up into her eyes, and she gazed back. She brought her hands up, one to touch his neck, the other to hold his cheek, and she kissed him softly, lovingly, trying to explain what he meant to her. He didn't let her get away with it for long, grasping her tightly again and reigniting the ardent, frenzied battle between their lips, and she didn't mind at all.

Just when their fervour and grip seemed to reach all time high, they broke away from each other, panting, and Tony looked into her face, her lips red and swollen, her eyes bright and heavy lidded. He strained to catch his breath, adoring her weight on his lap, the feel of her thighs resting against his. She breathed softly, suddenly looking a little shocked at how far and fast things were going.

'Do we need…should we take a break for a minute?' he asked her, his words husky, feeling as though he might combust if they kept this up without pulling back for a bit.

She nodded, looking as though it was the smartest thing either had said or done all night. 'Yeah.'

She left him then, and though he wanted to protest, he let her go. She climbed down to sit beside him, half propped up against the arm of the couch, looking at him.

He looked at her, and then at the foot she'd left resting on his thigh when she'd climbed off him, too weak and dazed to remove herself from him altogether. She caught him gazing at it, perched on the denim of his jeans, and went to pull it away. His hand shot out to wrap around her arch before they lost contact, stilling her.

'No,' he muttered. 'Leave it there.'

She did, feeling scorched by the image and feel of his hand engulfing her foot, so small looking in his lap. He ran his thumb over her toes, and then over her ankle, brushing her skin in a way that only enflamed her need, instead of extinguishing it.

'We're doing this?' he asked her foot, after several minutes of nothing but breathing and gently stroking her heel.

Up until that moment, Michelle hadn't realised they were going to make love. She'd known it subconsciously, but it hadn't yet become a cognitive thought. Now, the concept exploded in her brain, and she felt charged, like she'd been hooked up to a battery pack. Of course they were going to make love. What else was going to happen? He wasn't leaving. They both knew that. The idea that they might _not_ make love seemed like a travesty, though this realisation nearly disabled Michelle with nerves.

Making love. With Tony. She could see it in his eyes: he was thinking precisely the same thing. Yesterday, they were colleagues. Tonight, they were about to give each other everything, and neither wanted it any other way. They weren't going to consider whether it was too soon, or more appropriate once they'd been dating for a while. They weren't going to discuss it at length, or second guess each other's thoughts. Everything was evident in their touch, in the simple feel of his hand wrapped around her foot, and the slight pressure she placed on his lap with her toes.

He looked at her and she met his gaze. He knew it. He knew she knew it. It felt non-negotiable. They were going to make love tonight. It was indisputable.

She looked a little frazzled at the confirmation, but the image was undoubtedly the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. Her full breasts were rising and falling beneath her top, her legs smooth and pale and pretty between them. He moved his hand to rest on her knee, to get a little closer, and he felt her tremble slightly. They really did need this break, he thought. They'd been going crazy with each other, and the moment he'd realised they were going to end up in bed, he'd suggested a small break, something he'd badly needed. He wanted this to last. He'd never wanted anything quite so much in his life as he wanted Michelle, and he wasn't prepared to rush any part of it. He wanted to savour her, and, if he was going to be completely honest, he wanted her to savour him too. So far, she'd been responding just as zealously to his advances, and he'd felt thrilled. No woman had ever wanted him like this, and it drove him wild.

'Should we…should we have a glass of wine?' she suggested softly, her eyes fixed resolutely on his hand, still cupped around her knee.

He gave her a strained smile, and she responded with a small, shy grin.

'Yeah,' he said. 'Whatever. Just…something.'

Her grin, sexy as hell, expanded just a little.

''Kay,' she said. She toppled clumsily off the couch, her legs shaky, and gave herself a soft self-deprecating laugh as she straightened up. He watched her, feeling her laugh attack his chest, or heart or something, and watched her move around the coffee table and disappear into her kitchen without a backward glance, her top slightly askew, her skirt wrinkled.

_Damn_.

He stared after her, feeling incomplete now, and decided to follow her. She could pour wine and kiss at the same time. He was certain of it.

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><p><em>opium fuels updates x<em>


	18. Chapter 18

Tony stood at the threshold of her kitchen, watching her. He leaned against the doorway as she opened a cabinet and removed two glasses, placing them gently on the table before turning back to locate the wine.

Her kitchen was sparse; in fact, the whole apartment was fairly unfurnished, as though she didn't spend enough time inside it to care about decorating. He understood. His was exactly the same. It was just a place to sleep, a place to eat.

She didn't know he'd approached the kitchen, and wasn't aware that he was watching her. He, on the other hand, was enjoying it. He liked to watch her most when she had no idea, when she was entirely herself. She moved differently, acted differently, as though she felt she could only be free without other people around. Tony felt his heart softening at the realisation. He understood that feeling too.

He was suddenly struck with the image of her ferrying injured survivors across the bombed CTU bullpen, issuing words of comfort as they went and leaving them safely by the door. He knew he'd felt some very serious things for her for a long while, but yesterday had changed everything. Her dedication to the Cyprus recording, her dedication to justice and peace and security had, eventually, sealed the deal for him. She'd done it despite the risks to her career and her freedom – she'd done it despite him – and he'd felt his feelings skyrocket. And now they were standing alone together in her modest little place, taking a break because they'd almost gone wild, their lips inflamed, their hair tussled. Then, with that inadvertent thought, he realised something crucial. Her hair.

Michelle's eyes flickered up when she sensed movement at the door, and her gaze reached his. She offered him a small smile, and placed a bottle of red wine on the table.

'This alright?' she asked.

He didn't say anything, and she found she couldn't sever their gazes. His eyes were burning like fire upon her, and she felt oddly vulnerable and self-conscious, standing in the middle of her bare kitchen, being surveyed by him from a distance.

'Fine,' he muttered.

He was coming toward her, and she watched his slow journey across the room with bated breath until he was by her side, standing so close but not quite touching. His eyes weren't on her face, but on the clip at the base of her neck, holding all her curls in place.

'You gonna pour it?' he breathed.

'Yeah,' she said, feeling incapacitated with him this close. She unsteadily poured out the two glasses, and placed the bottle back on the table. She felt his hand trail up her spine until his fingers brushed against the hair clip

'Take your hair down,' he said, his words a whisper in her ear.

She turned her head slightly, trying to look at him. His eyes were almost black with desire and she shivered.

'It's…um…' she mumbled a little, trying to get her bearings, '…it's a bit crazy.'

'What?' he demanded. 'Your hair?'

'Yeah.'

She didn't want to take it down, and that was the truth of it. So far she'd hidden it from him, from _everyone_, keeping it firmly pinned back or tied down, already so self-conscious about it in all its big unfashionable glory. It was so long, and so out of control, an offensively curly mane of considerable girth, and she wondered if he'd look at it and wrinkled his nose, like so many men before him. It wasn't practical to tame it each and every day for work but she had wanted to straighten it for their first date, and whatever dates they had after it. Tonight he'd only given her half an hour to get ready, and so she'd had to settle for pinning it tightly back instead. Now, she was cursing herself for being lazy. She lamented her unruly hair, she always had, and she really didn't want to show him, not the man she'd wanted for so long.

'Take it down,' he urged her quietly, his hands creeping until they encircled her waist, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her temple.

'Later,' she whispered, and turned to kiss him. He pecked her lips, and then pulled away. Michelle felt her heart sink slightly.

'Now,' he said, his voice growing firm; the tone he employed when giving orders at work. 'Show me.'

'Tony…'

'Show me,' he growled. 'Have you got _any_ idea how long I've wanted you to show me?'

She stared at him for a very long time, an eyebrow raised, feeling very confused. He'd waited to see it? He _wanted_ to see it? Had she heard him correctly? Feeling oddly trapped, and seeing no other way out, she raised her hand slowly, highly aware that his eyes took in her every move. She extracted the few pins keeping her wilder curls in place and dropped them on the table by the wine. Then, sighing in silent resignation and feeling angry at him for wanting to glimpse her most hated attribute, she slowly unclasped the clip and put it down too. Her hands returned to unravel the tresses, and with a quick shake her curls tumbled down her back, expanding rapidly, bouncing around her face and shoulders and being generally insane.

She looked up at Tony then, turned in his arms to properly face him, and watched his eyes trace over her.

He knew she was watching him, knew she was uncomfortable about her hair, but he didn't care. He didn't give a damn. He felt undone just looking at her. She'd been right, her hair was a little crazy, but he was damned if he hadn't just been rendered speechless because of it. It was thick, and shiny, and its volume and width exceeded that of her shoulders. Each curl was like a perfect corkscrew, and he wanted to wrap each and every one around his fingers. He'd spent time, hours and hours, thinking about her hair down, all wild and loose around her, and now…now he was getting to see his fantasy realised for the first time.

'_Jesus.'_

'I know, it's out of control but I –'

She stopped, because Tony had come closer still, his mouth pressing somewhere between her eye and temple as his fingers ran up her arms, across her shoulders, and deep into her hair. He tangled his fingers in the curls for some time, rubbing them gently between his fingers, as though testing out the feel and weight of them, and she stayed still, watching him as best she could from her drastically limited vantage point. At one point he brought a fistful to his face and breathed it in, and Michelle felt another bout of goosebumps hit her.

Then, he took his wine glass and backed away from her. He reached the counter by the sink and stopped, looking content to lounge across from her there and …what? Watch her? Assess the spectacle in its full form?

His eyes were zigzagging across her and she suddenly felt as though something had kindled within her; a realisation that sparked and sizzled.

'You like it.'

She watched his eyes drink her in for another moment, as though she was on show for him, but she found she didn't mind. He looked as though he'd been shown something very secret and very special.

'I do,' he confirmed.

'Really?' she asked sceptically.

'Really.'

She took a sip of her wine, watching him continuously over the rim of her glass, just as he did her. They weren't touching, they weren't even close and yet she felt more aroused by him than ever as they watched each other from a quaint distance, drinking, not talking. She smiled a little when his eyes trailed over her locks again, and he caught her, and gave a smirk in return. Then, he inched toward her again, content that he'd really sat back and taken a moment to appreciate the complete unhindered sight of her.

'You know,' he said, meeting her at the table and reaching around her slightly to rid his hand of his glass. 'When I called you…in Washington…'

'Mmm?' she asked, nuzzling her nose feather-lightly against his rough jaw, glad to have him back within reach.

He went silent for a moment when her lips starting nibbling against his chin. Then, without any warning, he wrapped his hands around her thighs, and, eliciting a sharp gasp from her, lifted her up to sit her atop the table. He nudged himself between her legs, to get as close as her new position would allow, and then laid one hand against her waist, and used the other to steer her chin upwards, so their eyes would met again.

'I didn't need the access key.'

The smile that graced her face then was to die for. Tony felt stunned by it for a few seconds. _Good god_, the woman could smile. He reached up to tuck a delectable ringlet behind her ear, away from her eyes, and touched her ear tenderly as he did.

'I know,' she responded softly. 'I know you didn't.'

'Did you?' he asked, tickled by the teasing confidence in her expression. 'Had me all figured out then, huh?'

'No,' she said truthfully. 'But I did know you weren't calling about any access key.'

He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, revelling in the smoothness of her, and he watched her eyes closed. She enjoyed his touch. In fact, he had a feeling she loved it.

'I wanted you back at work,' he said in an undertone, marvelling at how exceptional it felt to know that he made her feel good.

'You were missing me.'

'Yeah,' he said, his face harsh in the dim glow, as though the confession gave him pain. 'That was pretty much it.'

'I was missing you too.'

He stared hard at her, their eyes boring into each other. Feeling affectionate, she placed another moist kiss on the very end of his chin, and then brushed her thumb against the same spot.

'You didn't like me,' he said hoarsely, sounding puzzled.

'That was true for a while,' she told him. 'But I did then. And I wanted to hear your voice…'

His hold on her strengthened considerably at that.

'I wanted you back here so badly when I heard yours,' he replied gruffly. 'I've decided I don't like having you gone.'

She kissed him then, touching her tongue to his mouth, and he clutched her in return and sucked hard on her lips, encouraged by her sigh of pleasure and her slight sway against him.

'I want this off you,' he said, tugging at her jacket. She nodded against him, and pulled back, trying to catch her breath at the same time as shrugging the jacket off. She let it fall on the floor and turned back to him, her red strappy top in full view, which, she remembered, he liked on her. But when she looked at him she didn't find appreciation in his gaze at all. Instead, she found only distaste.

'Michelle,' he murmured, taking her left arm and dragging it up into the light. He took her elbow in his palm and raised it gently, his thumb gliding over the skin. Michelle looked down and instantly found the source of the problem. There was a bruise there, yellowy and brown. It wasn't bad, but it was noticeable, and Tony hadn't torn his eyes from it.

'Michelle,' he said again, looking as though he found the sight inherently despicable.

'It's fine,' she told him, her finger trailing down his cheek. 'It's fine, just…just forget about it.'

'This is from…I did this,' he muttered, gazing at it closely, his eyes cold as ice.

'Don't look at it,' she urged him. 'It's alright, it doesn't hurt.'

He looked at her then, and returned his hands to her face, looking appalled at himself, the bruise, the situation that had led to it.

'It'll never happen again,' was all he said before he kissed her hotly. She murmured her reply into his mouth, though what it was he couldn't tell. All he did know was that he'd done something to hurt her, and now…now he was just going to have to find all the ways in which he could make it up to her.

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><p><em>This bad boy is happening in parts...opium helps x<em>


	19. Chapter 19

_Sorry to anyone else to who has to read this – the chapter 19 is down a little bit._

_AlmeidaFluff,_

_If you feel the way I write Tony and Michelle in the throes of passion is similar to the way you have in the past, forgive me, but that is your problem and not mine. Your story and mine both detail Tony and Michelle having their first date and getting it on. Yeah, there is going to be kissing in both, and moaning, and cool-down breaks and displays of dominance and other overlaps which you feel upset about. We're writing the same characters in the same situation. If there weren't overlaps then it would be odd, in my opinion, and a sign of inaccurate character portrayal, especially if we're both trying to stay true to the pre-existing characters, which I believe we are. _

_Furthermore, your graceless attacks imply that you set far too much in store by your own story. You write very, very well, but I have to make it quite clear to you that your story is one among over two thousand…and many of them about Tony and Michelle, and many of them detailing the kissing, and moaning, and other aspects of their trysts which you seem convinced I've thieved from you. You did not originate kissing or moaning, I'm sure. _

_The moment you see Tony do something, anything, to Michelle and vice versa in my writing, you feel the need to jump on online and write me a bullying email about plagiarism. Perhaps all the T&M authors over the years have as much "reason" as you to do this…and yet, where are their emails? Moreover, I found it interesting that, following my reply email which I'm guessing you found unsatisfactory, you chose to publicly address your concerns in detail, for all to see. What is the purpose of this? To alert readers to my oh-so deplorable, however inadvertent, offenses? To outline all the many ways in which you consider yourself to be a superior writer, and all the ways in which you think I'm a lazy one? It was a very interesting thing for you to do, I have to say. _

_What's more, I simply won't be bullied. We're all just having a light-hearted time here in fandom. Everyone is having fun (except you, I daresay) and I'm enjoying writing, and I think (hope) others are enjoying giving it a read. I'm here for no other reason than to thoroughly enjoy myself, and bring whatever enjoyment I can to fellow fans. _

_Your story was fantastic when you published several years ago, but I'm sorry to say it does not sit prominently in my mind and influence me, as you seem to think it must. The fact that you spend your time going through all the other T&M stories looking for clichés and romantic similarities to yours is concerning, and self-congratulatory and arrogant. Forgive me, but I think you may be slightly hung up on this, and on the popularity of your own story. I remember it being good, but simply not good enough to allow you to bully other fan writers._

_I've seen you vehemently try to accuse another gifted writer of similar things, especially just as her wonderful story was gaining popularity some time ago. I feel that you haven't yet taken a prudent moment to reflect that the stories are similar because T&M lovers write a lot of the same things, in a similar narrative style and voice. We write about two well-honed characters revealing themselves to each other. It's going to prompt common ideas. For example, Michelle has curly hair, not just on your copy of the 24 DVD, but on everyone's, and yes, Tony has a thing for it because it's wild and does it for him. You did not invent, nor do you own, Reiko Aylesworth's physical attributes…_

_I have nothing more really to say here, but I think it's best that you give up on this story if you find it irritating. I'm writing a love scene. It's been done before and it'll be done again and you can't seem to understand that. If you insist on trying to humiliate me by posting bitter public attacks, know this: this is fanfiction, not a peace summit in the Middle East. You need to adopt some measure of perspective. It's just for fun, not the end of the world, and I'm not easily humiliated. Please make an effort to stop attacking your fellow T&M lovers. _

_I will say congratulations on some really solid writing though. _

_Now on to chapter 19._

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><p>'You know that day…we first had lunch in the situation room?'<p>

'Yeah,' Tony answered, arranging her curls to sit just so across her collarbone in an attempt to further maximise his view of them, 'what about it?'

He looked up just in time to see a devilish grin steal across her face.

'I was avoiding you.'

'I know.'

She laughed breathily at him, and drank from her glass. Then, without warning, Tony came closer and deposited a fleeting kiss on the end of her nose. She blinked at him.

'What?' he asked.

'Nothing,' she smiled. 'You…you were avoiding me too, right?'

'Yeah,' he agreed. 'I liked having lunch with you though.'

'Me too.'

'Liar,' he caught her out immediately. 'You weren't comfortable at all. Your shoulders were all tense. You wanted me gone.'

She blushed and her gaze fell away.

'I was warming to you. It was a slow process.'

Tony leaned forward to kiss her glowing cheekbone, loving her blushes, feeling a fierce sense of possession over them. They were his.

'It was hard being locked in there with you every day,' he spoke directly into her ear, his hot breath dancing with the wispier curls at the base of her neck. 'It was hard for me…being alone with you…'

His fingers began a slow teasing caress of her slender waist, the fabric of her red top bunching slightly between his fingers, and Michelle knew he wanted her out of it too. His hands ascended until they reached her ribcage, his thumbs coming up to rest tentatively against the sides of her breasts, barely even touching, as though testing the waters. He watched her closely.

'What are you waiting for?' she asked him softly.

He had no answer, but still, he made no serious move to extricate her from her top.

'I've waited a long time to be with you like this,' he confessed.

He wasn't sure what he was trying to tell her, and one look at her face told him she didn't either. She looked uncertain…possibly she thought he meant they should put this off for whatever reason, or keep it for another time. He knew he needed to make his stance clear to her, but he felt strangely disabled, standing there between her thighs, looking down into her face.

'I thought we were off yesterday,' he said brusquely. He brushed the smooth skin beneath her right eye, her face still flushed. 'I thought we were done.'

She took a long languorous breath in.

'Me too.'

Then, with one hand busy holding her wine glass, the other went out to unfasten the top button of his black shirt. He smirked at her as she sat there, atop her table, looking so comfortable and clever as she performed her one handed task, taking a sweet sip of wine as she did. Tony frowned at her. Had he ever been confronted with a sexier sight in all his life? She had to know what she was doing. She simply had to, and yet, there was a certain degree of sweet apprehension in her face. She wanted to be sexy, she just wasn't convinced she was pulling it off. He smiled down at her, resisting the urge to halt her fingers and draw her into a warm hug. Now wasn't the time. Things had just been elevated between them and he wasn't prepared to depart from such good fortune.

When his shirt was fully open and hanging off his shoulders she did nothing for a long time. He watched her eyes coast deliberately over him, hovering on each muscle, each fine dark hair, taking her time as she perused him, and he felt as though he burned red hot beneath her gaze.

He shrugged the shirt off entirely and allowed it to become better acquainted with her jacket, lying unwanted by the legs of a chair. He then returned to her, took hold of her top and drew it off her, unable to go another moment without being introduced to more of her bare skin.

She sat there in her bra, looking a touch dazed, and he felt the composure between them fizzle into oblivion. She reached out for him as he took hold of her, both endeavouring to attach their mouths to the others chest, and neither quite able to with the other fighting for the privilege. He chuckled lowly when their heads bumped, and reached out to hold her still.

'Me first.'

He pressed her back and prepared to launch what he hoped would be long standing relationship between his mouth and her chest when she stopped him.

'Wait.'

She reached behind her, unclasped her bar, drew it from her arms and tossed it aside. She looked up shyly, and he felt drunk with her as he took in the sight, a sight he'd envisioned so frequently. He realised now that his imaginings didn't match up to the reality, had _never _matched up. Not even a little bit.

'Yeah,' he managed to say. 'You really can't do things like that without warning me first.'

She gave a little shrug, and drew him closer, running a single finger, cold from her glass, across his abdomen. He felt himself flinch at her cool touch, and in return slipped his fingers from her shoulder and drew them down across her clavicle, where they eventually fell upon a perfect, pink nipple. He thumbed against it, watching her shiver from his touch, and hunkered down over her. He looked at her for a long moment, and she stared back, her eyes glazed, her mouth parted, a look of sheer longing on her face, a look he knew was illustrated perfectly upon his own. He blew a sharp gust of air across her and replaced his fingers with his lips, drawing her deep inside his mouth and sucking softly.

Feeling her squirm beneath him sent him half crazy, and he furiously instructed himself to stay in control. For a moment, only a moment, he'd lost track of things, allowed himself to come too close to the edge of wildness, and he needed to get a handle on things, for her sake, for his.

He swirled his tongue leisurely around her, and a ravenous moan filled the little kitchen, prompting him to abandon his post and lift her firmly in his arms. Her legs locked automatically around him as she was boosted upward and her fingers dug adoringly through his hair, drawing out his own delighted groan.

He took them away from the kitchen then, deciding he'd had more teasing than he could bear. He made slightly stumbling steps toward her open bedroom door, operating without any sort of clear plan or goal other than to make her clothes disappear as rapidly as he could, before he came to a grinding halt. Her hand had come down between them as he carried her, and was playing lightly against the front of his jeans. He took several seconds to come terms with what she was doing, feeling crazed beyond measure, before he brought them both down to sprawl across the carpeted threshold. She raised her head to gaze at him, looking confused to find herself spread out across the floor.

'What are you – ?

'Shhh,' he told her, his fingers stilling her lips. 'Just shhh. I want to do something first.'

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	20. Chapter 20

Michelle gazed at him, suspended over her; one of his legs hooked loosely around hers. She became aware of a peculiar sort of calm emanating from them both, one which hadn't ever surfaced between them before. The place seemed very still all of a sudden. Things between them had levelled out, quite literally, as they lay on the floor, locked in a disorderly shirtless embrace. Her heart rate had slowed, her shivers had ceased, her flesh was no longer buzzing beneath the surface of her skin.

She felt his fingers inch toward her face, where they traced several times across her jawline, and she, in return, nudged into his touch. She blinked then, unable to maintain their locked gaze, and felt disappointed with herself. He was looking at her with a sort of intensity she found confronting. She couldn't…she couldn't reciprocate in kind, couldn't open herself to him, couldn't offer up everything and he…well, he wasn't hiding from her.

She didn't want him to. She never wanted him to hide any part of himself from her, but to do the same for him? It was a foolish desire. As the night evolved she'd felt barricades disintegrate. She'd felt in tune, in touch, safe. She was coming hazardously close to joining him in his comfortable abandon…and she wasn't really sure she could, or even should. People left, after all. They let her down. They wandered away from her all the time. This was why she'd never been in love, not even a little. It seemed, for her, an unwise thing…not that she'd ever felt herself falling before. Not like she was now.

Without thinking, she raised herself to kiss him, a quick childish sort of kiss.

'I like this,' he informed her when she pulled back, pressing the tip of his finger to the bow of her lips. She smiled.

'I'm glad.'

He grinned down at her, and she champed at her bottom lip, wondering why she felt so nervous all of a sudden.

'So…what are we doing down here?'

At this he seemed to recall his previous purpose, and smiled a very wicked sort of smile, which he proceeded to press against her breast bone. He kissed her.

'This.'

He moved down her body then, pecking arbitrarily as he went, and she felt her muscles spasm beneath him. He eventually arrived at her thighs, where he touched her lightly, and proceeded to observe the tiny jolt she was unable to quash with a slight smile.

He rolled her skirt down from her hips, over her bent legs and away from her altogether, leaving her in nothing but her underwear, flagrantly bare on the carpet. She wrestled with the urge to ask for the skirt back, wondering if he'd give it to her if she did.

His eyes raked over her abdomen, her hips, her pelvis and she realised she hadn't taken a breath in quite some time, caught up in the suspense and agony of it all. His fingers were dancing along the seams of the fabric, teasing her happily, until he finally caught the sides in his hands and drew the thing from her body. She held her breath the entire time, feeling horrendously exposed now compared to his happy half-dressed state.

'T-Tony,' she breathed, when he returned to his hovering position of power at her thighs, scrutinising every naked inch of her. 'Don't.'

'What?' he asked darkly, his hand coming up to rest against her, his mouth not far off.

'You don't…don't have to…'

He raised his face to her, his eyes glinting in the glow from the living room lamp.

'Let me,' he growled at her. She exhaled slowly, and jumped when she felt his fingers delve softly between her folds.

'Come on,' he urged. 'Let me.'

He wanted to taste her. He wanted to _drink_ her. Didn't she have any idea how much he wanted those things? She could be nervous or self-conscious or whatever another time. He felt compelled to do it, and he felt compelled to do it now.

She'd watched him for far too long when, after an age had seemingly passed, she gave a hesitant nod of her head.

His mouth sent her whirling as it made first contact, his tongue slashing up and down through her arousal, lapping as he went. She lurched at the sensation of his coarse cheeks against her softness and, for a long moment, his mouth merely explored her. She felt herself adapting, felt her body welcoming him, accepting him, until he did something which made her bolt off the floor. With no forewarning at all, he'd gripped her hips hard between his palms and plunged his tongue deep inside her passage. She'd heard herself gasp desperately, and grab violently at his shoulders, but he took no notice of her. She collapsed back on the carpet, feeling feeble with pleasure and need, and all she could do was revel in the feel of his tongue as it curled and played within her.

It was torture. At times, she was sure it was more aching than it was agreeable to have him continue, to have him excite her in this way, to know her in this way. He was unquenchable, nibbling and sipping at her, until, having decided he'd tormented her enough, he fastened his lips around her nub and murmured against her, the tremors launching her over the edge. She reared frantically beneath him, her fingernails digging down into his skin as he brought her to a place, a paradise, she hadn't previously known existed.

She came back down, her bucking legs held in his hands, pinned down to the floor, and she fumbled helplessly around for him. Seeming to know exactly what she needed, he was suddenly sitting by her side, helping her up into his arms, where he cradled her across his lap and ran a hand through her tangled hair.

'You okay?' he breathed into her curls, looking at her. She pressed her face deep into his neck, and his arms tightened around her.

His eyes roamed her as he listened for her response. She was nude in his arms, and he couldn't stop looking, couldn't stop touching. Which part of her wasn't perfect? There had to be one. At the very least, he thought, there had to be one.

'I…' she took in a several breaths, looking stunned and he waited for her, admiring her flushed face and glazed, shiny eyes. 'I…I can't move,' she finally admitted, her voice a whisper against his chin. A tiny incredulous laugh, soft and sweet, left her lips, and he grasped them between his own for a moment, feeling weak from her, feeling overcome by her taste in his mouth and her weight in his arms.

'That's alright,' he said softly, his lips coming up to rest against her closed eye. 'That's alright. I've got you.'

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	21. Chapter 21

'How's the lip?'

She felt his chest reverberate against her, his chuckle low and gravelly.

'Terrible,' he said. 'Excruciating.'

'Think you'll live?'

He gave an exaggerated shrug, drawing his fingers back and forth across her stomach.

'I'm optimistic.'

'And the ankle? I'm kinda to blame for that one too.'

'No kidding,' he agreed. 'It'll come good soon.'

She twisted in his grip to give him a once over, her eyes playful.

'Look at you,' she murmured, her fingers brushing against his chest. 'All scarred and battle worn.'

He laughed again.

'Does that do it for you?'

She bestowed a full, teasing smile upon him and he bit his lip, absorbing the image.

'Like you wouldn't believe.'

'Well, in that case,' he said, smirking. 'If you'll redirect your attention to my right arm, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.'

She squinted through the darkness at his bicep to find a thin white line there. She fingered it gently for a moment.

'How'd you get it?'

'Marines,' was all he said. She watched his muscles flex beneath the tip of her finger.

'Mmm, you're right,' she giggled, wriggling against him, keeping one eye on the scar. 'This does do it for me.'

He tickled her ribs at that, and she laughed easily, brushing his hands away. He caught her fingers in his, threading them together and holding them tight.

'I've got others,' he informed her, looking carefully offhand about it, as though they were nothing.

'Go on then,' she grinned. 'Let me see.'

He kissed the back of her hand and brought them both gently to their feet, displaying a small, coin shaped one on his hip and an even smaller nick beneath his left nipple, which she admired with an indulgent grin.

'Any on your legs?' she asked, meandering backward into the darkness of her room, and dragging him gently with her. 'I need an excuse to get you out of your pants.'

He stared at her for a long moment, looking half delighted, half surprised at her bold admission.

'You think you need an excuse?' he asked her, his voice breaking slightly as he raked over the sight of her, completely naked and holding his hand. He pulled her into his arms, loving the feel of her bare breasts against him, and her curls tickling his face. 'Just so we're clear,' he whispered to her, 'you _never_ need an excuse.'

She didn't answer, mostly because she was engaged in some sort of wild confrontation between his neck and her tongue, and he utilised the moment to unzip his jeans and kick them off. He found her hands again and placed them on his chest as she continued her assault, caging his own around them. She pulled back at that, and watched him as he eyed her fingers, lying dormant against his skin.

'They're pretty,' he informed her, frowning at them as though he thought they had no business being such a way. 'I – I don't know – like them.'

'I know.'

She studied them too, trying to understand his appreciation and finding she couldn't quite get there. He brought them both up to his lips, kissing her palms in turn and massaging them with his thumbs as he did.

'I've never been a hands man,' he muttered to her. She gave a tinkling laugh.

'A hands man? That's an actual thing?'

'Well, apparently,' he told her with a shrug, glancing back at her pale fingers. 'There's something about your hands. They do something to me.'

He reached out to rub up and down her forearms then, wondering if she was cold, and she generously left her fingers where he'd placed them. She toyed with the hair on his chest for several seconds and then kissed his chin, something she obviously enjoyed doing, and something he was beginning to crave.

Slowly, her hands trailed down to his abdomen, and then to the waistband of his boxers, where they lingered agonisingly against his sensitive skin. His breathed hitched, and she smiled. She drew his boxers down until they were around his feet, and, crouching at his knees, she looked up at him, waiting for him to shove them away to join his jeans. He did.

She started a slow ascent back to him, and he gasped when her tongue flicked out to taste him on the way. He instantly grabbed her face and held it firmly. She looked up at him, startled.

'Your hands,' he panted, sounding pained. 'They're…they're all I want tonight.'

She eventually smiled, looking as though she believed him, as though she understood, and straightened herself out, gazing down between them. He was thick and hard as stone, and she tentatively wrapped one hand around him, interested to see how he reacted.

He growled almost against his will, his eyes rolling back in his head as she gripped him, increasing her pressure little by little. She bit her lip, taking in his elated face, his tense forehead, his open mouth. He held her by the shoulders, squeezing her quite forcefully, though she didn't mind.

'Watch,' she murmured to him. 'You like watching them at work, don't you? My hands? You like watching me type, watching me eat. You like watching when I hand you things and do that thing with my hair. So watch them now.'

Her words seemed to unleash some sort of deeply buried need within him, and his grip on her increased immeasurably. He opened his eyes, took one look between them, one look at her fingers wrapped so securely around him, and consequently dragged her toward him for a rough searing kiss, his tongue probing, severe in its movements.

'Michelle,' he puffed, as her hands – both of them – toured torturously up and down his length. 'You…you don't know – '

'Don't know what?' she breathed against his cheek, nibbling at his stubble.

' – how this feels,' he trailed off, his voice low and hindered with need, his teeth clenched together.

She placed an opened mouthed kiss at the corner of his lips.

'I do,' she told him quietly, suddenly emotional. 'You made me feel the same way, just before. I've _never_ felt so good, Tony.'

She upped the intensity then, squeezing him slightly, brushing her thumbs against his tip, and his hips bucked into her hands in response, his fingers digging into her.

'Michelle,' he rasped desperately.

'It's alright,' she told him, her voice barely audible against his throat. 'I…I've got you.'

She knew she'd said something important, something monumental even, which he then processed and found inherently affecting. He slung his arm around her waist at that and hauled her easily toward the bed, his grip still vice-like around her as he stretched them both out, her head coming down gently upon her pillow.

'So…uh…this is your bed,' he said, looking down at her.

'The one and only.'

He nodded, taking in the dark sheets and the slightly tattered comfort blanket strewn across the end, something she'd clearly had a long time. Her clothes were tossed around the room, shoes lay here and there, lonely without their partners, and on the bedside table were two hideously ugly clay figurines. They looked quite demented, as though someone had made two small humanoid sculptures and then thrown scalding water over them, melting them down into two twisted and deranged-looking creatures. He frowned at them for a moment, feeling quite confused, and then remembered Michelle was tucked under him, holding him, waiting for him. He turned back to her and took her in, his eyes dancing over her hair and the certain delicious way it looked spread out over her pillow.

'I've thought about this bed,' he whispered to her shoulder, her curls against his mouth. 'I've thought about you in it.'

'Yeah?' she asked, her breathing laboured, her eyes heavy.

'Yeah,' he said, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.

They stared at each other, not moving, not kissing, just watching, until they both became aware of her hand crawling down between them. She wrapped around him and, with his help, guided him toward her entrance. They were still for a moment, wrapped up in each other's legs and arms, both taking a quiet moment to acknowledge who they were with, the situation they were in and the fact that neither had had to ask the other to look at them. They were lost in each other's eyes. There was simply no other place for them to look.

She felt him push against her slightly, seating his tip snugly within her, and she exhaled slowly, wanting to feel him, all of him, _needing_ to know what it was like. She'd needed him for a year. She'd loved him for almost as long. This, what they were doing now, was long overdue, and the feel of him, greeting her in this way, was categorically maddening.

He knew it was, he could see it all spilled out in her eyes, and he nodded once, feeling the same way. More contact. More contact was essential.

Deliberately, with no hurry about it at all, he pushed himself within her, sheathing himself amongst her soft wet walls, feeling her contract around him, the sensation sending him reeling. Finally, he hit bottom, buried entirely inside her, and he felt his heart thudding crazily, felt his arms strengthen around her, felt deliriously grateful that they hadn't lost eye contact, not even for a split second. Then he noticed a small frown on her face, and, as he moved slightly, he watched her wince.

'Am I hurting you?' he asked immediately, pulling back to examine her face.

'No.'

She answered far too quickly for his liking, her voice high and breathy.

'Michelle…'

'You aren't. Not really.'

'Michelle…'

'I…it's just been a while,' she eventually muttered to him, her words strained. 'And…I guess, uh…past…past experiences…have been somewhat…smaller…in size.'

Her eyes bore into his and she smiled an embarrassed smile – an apologetic smile – and he felt his stomach twist.

'I've just got to get used to you,' she whispered. 'That's all.'

Knowing he couldn't feel more in love, or more furiously buoyant, he gently dropped his head and kissed her, tongues teasing delicately. He then laid his forehead upon hers, their breaths mingling, and shifted his weight slightly, hoping to alleviate her discomfort.

'You do,' he told her. When she looked enquiringly up at him he added, 'You do have to get used to me. Tonight, though, we'll go slow.'

He kissed her forehead, his mouth lingering for a long while as he listened to her breathe.

'And I'll be gentle.'

She raised her head and kissed his mouth tenderly, their lips a perfect fit.

'I know you will.'

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	22. Chapter 22

Michelle frowned through her closed eyes, sunlight peering rudely in through her curtains, and flipped sluggishly onto her side, hiding her face. She'd been asleep, mercifully free from nightmares about bombings and radiation poisoning and attacks made on countries halfway around the world. Instead, she'd felt sheltered, and sated, and each of her muscles had rested free from tension and strain.

Her only discomfort was a dull pang low in her pelvis, but she was more than prepared to take the bitter with the better and found no complaint to make. Tony had been exceedingly gentle, just as he'd promised. He'd dotted her face with kisses and made scorching tracks against her skin with his fingers and she'd thrilled to each and every move on his part, each and every tender word and delectably fiery upstroke.

He'd twisted his arms around her as they fell away into some much needed sleep, and she'd combed her fingers through his hair for as long as she could manage, feeling consumed by him and his weight against her. She wasn't sure when she'd last felt so warm.

Now though, she was cold. She fought to open her eyes and the moment she did she froze, her frown amplified. The bed was empty but for her. She raised herself up on her elbows, her eyes sliding groggily about the room. His clothes were gone.

She sat cross-legged beneath her sheet for a moment, feeling puzzled. The night had gone well. At least, from her side of things it had. _No_, she thought quickly. It had been good for them both. Better than good. There was no real doubt about that. So then why had he left in the night? She hadn't expected him to at all…but then what had she been expecting exactly? For him to wake up and kiss her til her eyes opened? To share toast and coffee and possibly engage in round two? What, precisely?

She shrugged unconsciously. Maybe she _had_ been expecting such things, hoping for such things, without even realising it. And as a result, his conspicuous absence had surprised her and left her feeling unsure.

Peeling back the sheets, she abandoned the bed and wandered, naked, back into the living room. There was no one in her bathroom and no movement in her kitchen. The two wine glasses and the half empty bottle of red were still on the table, and her jacket was lying by the legs of a chair, his accompanying shirt long gone.

There had been no note to find, and so, feeling vaguely concerned, she went to locate her bag and check her phone. No messages. Nothing.

It was still early, barely past seven, and she returned to her very empty bathroom, deciding to shower before making her reluctant return to work. Staff members, meaning those who'd survived of course, were due back after their lone day off to recuperate. Michelle knew they needed more time, she knew _she_ needed more time, but Palmer's assassination attempt was headlining and the domestic outcry over the nuke demanded attention. Their attention. Her attention. She couldn't hide away for much longer than she already had.

Perhaps Tony had taken himself into work early? It made sense. He was running the show now and still had the objectionable likes of Chapelle and Hammond to contend with, to prove himself to. He simply shouldn't stay holed up in bed with her when he had a responsibility to his new role, to himself, to his country. She understood that better than anyone. Still though…he might've left some type of message. She couldn't really think why he hadn't, knowing it just wasn't like him, and she wondered if something had gone wrong while she'd slept.

Perhaps he'd had a barrage of thoughts to resist once she'd drifted off in his embrace. Perhaps many a cruel idea pertaining to Nina Myers and the haunting nature of romantic betrayal had made their attack on him. Perhaps it'd been too soon after the tragedy of the day before. Perhaps he simply hadn't been ready…

Though none of this went hand in hand with what she'd experienced of him last night, she found herself returning to the matter of his silent disappearance time and time again as she readied herself. He was entirely at liberty to leave whenever he pleased…she just hadn't expected him to do it without saying goodbye.

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	23. Chapter 23

The drive to work was speedier than usual and Michelle listened to the radio, feeling overwhelmed as she did. Grave reports of civil unrest were filing in, and crimes against those publicly thought to be responsible for the nuke had begun in earnest, ranging from mere vandalism to the mention of a gruesome racial murder.

David Palmer was stable in an undisclosed hospital and his glaring absence from the public eye was only kindling the outcry and causing mild distress around the country. What was more, they hadn't yet dug down past Peter Kingsley, though there was a certainty floating around CTU, once she'd arrived, that there was more to find there.

The bullpen was busy yet understaffed, and Michelle noted several unknown faces as she arrived at her station. Her eyes ran the length of the room, taking in each and every harrowing detail. A lot of the rubble had been left exactly where it had fallen, and she was fairly certain the murky stain near the situation room was someone's congealed blood.

She glanced up at Tony's office – and froze. He wasn't there. Instead, Brad Hammond sat majestically in his seat, complete with his starchy tie and jacket, speaking on the phone and looking generally disapproving.

Michelle didn't know how long she frowned up at the office, but a small voice by her side eventually drew her attention away.

'He's assuming provisional control of CTU.'

The voice belonged to a staffer from District, one who'd been assigned to a neighbouring station. She was short and blonde and wore fashionable spindly glasses. 'I'm guessing you don't want him around either?'

'Never,' Michelle muttered. The staffer smiled.

'Yeah, well, hopefully it won't be for long.'

'Why?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Why is he assuming control? Where is Tony Almeida?'

'He's the new director, right? After George Mason left…'

'Yeah. Yeah, exactly.'

'I don't know,' the woman shrugged, settling back in her chair with a hoard of files to attend to. 'Hammond just called us to a meeting half an hour ago and said he was in charge for now.'

'He gave no explanation?'

'He's Hammond,' was the quick reply. The staffer then looked Michelle up and down for a moment. 'You're the IP Manager, aren't you? Michelle Dessler.'

'Yeah…'

'You're third in charge, right? Or second now or whatever. He might tell you.'

'He might…'

'If he does, can you let me know,' she said, peering through her glasses at her screen. 'I'm interested too.'

Michelle lowered herself slowly into her chair, stuffing her bag in the now unbalanced bottom drawer by her computer. She switched on her system and sat back to let it load.

They hadn't fired him. They hadn't reassigned him. That particular drama had been well and truly annulled by their written agreement after their arrests. Tony had been placed back in charge, even Chapelle had had to recognise that. So then what was with Hammond? She checked her phone once more. No new messages.

Feeling as though she was missing something monumental, she turned her attention to the list of alerts and enquiries on her screen, increasing by the minute. Once finished with them she had to make upgrades to the city's civilian security protocols and send them off to Washington. Then, she had to start digging around Kingsley, which was precisely what she was in the process of doing an hour before lunch when Hammond summoned her up to his office. Well, Tony's office.

'Michelle,' he said abruptly. 'You haven't been assigned the Kingsley investigation.'

She blinked. It was as though he'd been monitoring her productivity all morning.

'I was working it up yesterday, Mr Hammond,' she replied, hoping her tone was sufficiently polite. 'I assumed I was to restart it.'

He shook his head.

'We've got that under control. Return to the response to the unrest. Ensure the security protocols are updated hourly.'

'I…alright.'

'Thank you.'

She hesitated.

'Mr Hammond?'

'Yes?'

'Has Tony been granted further leave?'

'Tony?'

'Mr Almeida.'

'Director Almeida,' he corrected her irritatingly. 'And no, he hasn't been granted further leave.'

She stayed where she was in the doorway, unsure how best to phrase her queries without alerting him to her deeper interest. The last thing – the _very_ last thing – they needed was for anyone at Division to discover the personal nature of their relationship. She imagined the ensuing reaction to be most problematic.

'So, he's unavailable…' she ventured casually.

Brad lifted his incredibly square jaw out of the file he was reading and glared at her, his eyes exasperated.

'You have level five clearance?'

She frowned slightly.

'I…no, sir, level four but…'

'But?'

'Well, with my completion of the Crisis Management training its level five, it's just not official as yet.'

He continued to glare.

'So you have level four?' he amended flatly.

Michelle exhaled as patiently as she possibly could.

'Yes, sir.'

'Then Almeida's situation exceeds your clearance level,' he explained. He looked up again when she failed to move. 'Those security protocols are waiting, Michelle.'

She stared at him. Almeida's situation? Clearance level?

'Yes, sir,' she said calmly, her back perfectly straight as she descended the stairs. She returned to her work and continued on with her day, no more news of Tony finding her. At five o'clock she retrieved her bag and left with the rest of the skeletal day shift. She drove home with the radio firmly off, feeling frustrated with CTU, resentful of Brad Hammond, and, most acutely, anxious for Tony. Where was he?

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	24. Chapter 24

Six weeks was a long time to a place like CTU, where threats surfaced every day, new intel was shipped in and out by the hour and new agents came in regularly to replace those who moved on, up or found themselves injured on the job. The high turnover of information and agents gave it a constant sense of motion and change, and a week could easily feel like the passing of a year.

The small blonde staffer had been placed back at Division, though she never did get the answers she craved. The blood spot by the situation room had been removed, the rubble had been carted away, and a troupe of builders had been allowed in by night to bring the place back up to scratch. It looked, nowadays, as though the bomb had never gone off. Everything was shiny. Everything was new.

A lavish memorial for George had taken place, complete with patriotic decorations and an appearance by Vice President Prescott (something which flat out disturbed Michelle). A buffet of officials and politicians claimed most of the seating, nodding solemnly at each other as they did, and anyone else had to squeeze in at the back.

George was the guy who detonated the nuke safely, and so there had been philosophical speeches about true sacrifice and duty and honour, and Michelle had stood in a corner at the back, watching on disdainfully. George would've been nauseated by the occasion. She imagined him balking at something so ridiculously contrived, and, if given the chance, he probably would've walked out. Michelle knew without a doubt that she would've gone with him.

There had been a quiet service for Paula in a small chapel three days after George's, attended mostly by her family and a handful of friends. Michelle sat in one of the empty pews, and had attended the wake immediately afterward, landing the abysmal responsibility of having to explain that the reason none of her colleagues were in attendance was because they were gravely injured, or simply dead too.

Alone she attended as many of the thirty funerals as she could, and visited Davidorff in hospital one Sunday afternoon, and tried to see Lindauer as well. He died two days before her planned visit. She then brought some flowers to his wife and expressed her sympathies, but the widow was grieving with her family and so she hadn't lingered.

Then, it was as though none of it had happened. CTU was restaffed and whole again, and Michelle had a new group of people to train and manage. Brad Hammond was still in control of CTU, though Chapelle had relieved him a couple of times, and Tony…well, she just didn't know.

It seemed, in a lot of ways, that the day of the nuclear bomb hadn't taken place, as though they'd either been jolted backward or forward in time. Jack hadn't yet made any sort of return, Paula, George and thirty others were gone, and Tony had vanished, leaving Hammond to preside in his place. Michelle was the only one left. It felt as though she'd been transferred across the country, with no one and nothing, not even some left over debris, to remind her of that day. Had it even really happened? Had she truly helped locate a nuclear bomb? Had she merely imagined uncovering the Cyprus recording, and being arrested, and kissing Tony? Because there was simply no evidence to suggest otherwise, no evidence to suggest that it hadn't all just been a twisted nightmare, with a couple of lukewarm memories of Tony tossed in.

She knew he was away for work, that much was obvious, she just didn't know anything further. Was he far? Nearby? Overseas? What was he working on? Was he stationed at another branch, or was it riskier than that? Whatever it was, Michelle knew she had no real reason to feel angry at him. He hadn't skipped town for fun. He was away doing his job, doing his duty. But she did feel angry, and that annoyed her to no end.

He owed her nothing, and she wasn't the sort of woman to sit by the phone waiting to hear from her flavour of the month either. He had his reasons for not contacting her, and she respected that, but still…six weeks was a long time. Not just to CTU. It was a long time to her. And she knew he had possession of a phone. To think anything else was absurd. He…well, he just didn't want to talk.

He'd missed Paula's funeral. This upset her far more than the fact that he'd run off without a word mere hours after they'd made love. He'd _needed_ to be there. His attendance was vital, just as it had been vital for Michelle to attend the service for George. They both had very personal reasons to go and very deep attachments to their lost colleagues, and she wasn't mad at him on behalf of Paula and her family. She was mad at him on behalf of himself. Paula's death had been tormenting for him. As far as she knew he hadn't had any real time to grieve, or even think about it, and now he could receive no closure. Now he couldn't say goodbye.

That had been weeks ago, but she still felt the emotional weight of all those funerals and their distraught families, even if no one else did. She missed George, and felt uneasy around Hammond, and avoided the place where Paula had been crushed. She trained and mentored her new department, and assumed most of the responsibilities of Chief of Staff, though no official promotion was offered. She quietly made most of the decisions when an active threat came in, sensing that Hammond was far more adept at his bureaucratic nonsense than threat management.

At times it felt a lot like she'd been handed the director position with none of the perks, (not that there were many), and she had to tend to the job and tend to Hammond's trivial qualms and queries at the same time. Suffice to say she was getting tired. To her ever growing displeasure she was getting lonely too. It was hard to both begrudge Tony and miss him at the same time. A message, just one in the course of the six weeks, would not have gone unappreciated.

Then, one Thursday afternoon, he returned. He walked straight back into the bullpen as though he'd been there the whole time, and took the stairs straight up to his office. Michelle had been over by the systems analyst station, and so he hadn't seen her. His eyes had flashed over her usual chair as he'd taken in the newly repaired fixtures of the room, yet aside from that he gave no sign of seeking her out. Some of the new agents looked up when he passed through, interested as to who he was. No one welcomed him back. No one said anything really.

He spent a good hour up there with Hammond, and then the rest of the day in the situation room with an official from Division, debriefing at length, though about what Michelle had no idea. Hammond wandered in and out throughout the process, seemingly oblivious to the fact that a cyber attack had been launched against them that very morning. This, clearly, was something Michelle had been delegated. Wading through the attack took the rest of the afternoon, and she stayed long after five, writing reports and sending them away. The tiny night shift had arrived and were off doing their thing, and she was alone. At least, she'd thought she was.

'Dessler,' she answered her phone wearily.

'Hey.'

She frowned at her monitor. It was Tony. She thought about turning to look up at him, but chose not to.

'Hi…' she said cautiously, keeping her questions firmly at bay. She dearly wanted to demand answers, but kept quiet. It wasn't her place. When it came to missions, they were agents only.

'Look, can you come up here for a second please?'

'Yeah,' she said. 'Let me send this off first.'

'Alright. Thanks.'

She wrote a brief email, attached the coinciding report and sent it off to Washington before leaving her chair and climbing the stairs. She felt, once again, on edge. She hadn't seen him in six weeks, and now she didn't know what to expect.

'Hi,' he said, standing as she entered. She closed the door behind her. He looked tired, haggardly so. She wanted to touch him, or embrace him. A kiss would've thrilled her too, or even a smile. He looked so good to her, but she stayed where she was. She wanted to show him that she'd missed him, but a small part of her wanted to show him she was annoyed too.

'You're back,' she said, not knowing what else to say.

'Yeah.'

His eyes seemed to scan her for a moment, the way they used to long before the nuke.

'Where did you go?' she asked, not caring about clearance for a moment.

His gaze fell to the floor.

'Look,' he said, ignoring her question and scratching at his cheek. 'Do you think we should be doing this?'

She watched him, feeling sightly dismayed.

'This?' she asked, in case she'd read him wrong.

'Us,' he clarified. 'I don't think it's a good idea.'

A good idea? She folded her arms, choosing to look mildly thoughtful about his terrible declaration.

'Perhaps it's not,' she said calmly – objectively, even. 'Has Chappelle or Hammond found out?'

'No,' he told her. 'Nothing like that. I just don't think this sort of thing is a good idea.'

This sort of thing? She felt as though he'd had half this conversation without her. What was he talking about?

'It'd be better if we didn't get involved,' he continued. 'It'll cause problems and I want to avoid that.'

Problems? What sort of problems exactly? Did he mean it would jeopardise his position as Director? So it was fine to want her back when he was Chief of Staff, but now that he was the boss it was a different matter? She'd waited for him to return for six weeks. She'd longed for him, because with him came memories of that day. With him came the certainty that it hadn't all just been an awful dream. With him she was allowed to feel all the things she'd been fending off for so long.

Now, she felt grief bubble up within her. She felt the stress of the last six weeks crowd in on her, felt the sorrow of attending so many funerals where she'd sat alone. And now…now he wanted to call them off because he wanted to avoid problems?

She couldn't help but wonder if this didn't have something to do with their night together. From her end, it had been more or less ideal. But from his? Well, she had no idea, did she? He could've thought any number of things about what had happened before he'd grabbed his clothes and made his speedy departure.

'You're right,' she heard herself saying easily. 'Perhaps it would be better, in the long run, if we didn't.'

'Yeah,' he said, nodding. 'Better for us both.'

She nodded too.

'I think so.'

They watched each other for a few seconds.

'Well…'

''Night,' she said, turning to go.

'Yeah,' he said. ''Night.'

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	25. Chapter 25

Michelle's eyes tracked the third arrival of the day. He was a stout man – a man who wore perfectly creased slacks – and he marched through the doors with unmistakable purpose. He shook hands with both Tony and Hammond, and subsequently disappeared into the situation room without a backward glance.

Before him there had been a middle aged woman in a charcoal business suit, and before her had been a younger man who chose to show every possible sign of nervousness. They were interviewees. That much was very clear, and Michelle couldn't help but watch them traipse in and out, feeling puzzled. Which position were they going for?

She returned to her screen, setting her confusion aside. Things had been difficult since Tony had invited her up to his office with the intention of breaking it off with her a week ago. It had been hard to concentrate and harder still to work at the standard she normally did. She couldn't really afford to be distracted by a string of interviewees on top of everything else.

It seemed that things between herself and Tony had regressed back to the tense mutual animosity of their pre-situation room days. It had been all too easy to slip back into avoiding him, to taking his orders with a small measure of contempt, to answering him with one word sentences. And he had done precisely the same thing. He'd returned to his cold, quiet ways, returned to giving her orders and assignments with brusque indifference, returned to watching her when he thought she wasn't aware.

Only now, no attempt was being made by either of them to bridge the awkward gap with small talk or forced courtesies. They both went about their days as though the other wasn't there, though this was far more difficult for Michelle than Tony, who often had to follow the humiliating protocol of running enquiries and procedures past the Director before she could execute them.

Hammond was still loitering around the place, though she'd had no idea why until today, when the interviewees had strolled in. Hammond wasn't one to leave matters like staffing to mere Directors, obviously having elbowed his way in on the process for whatever supercilious reason he'd dredged up. She smirked slightly. That would've destroyed Tony's day.

Half an hour later she watched the stout man show himself out, and, as her eyes returned to her screen, she caught sight of the Chief of Staff station. It was vacant, of course. She felt herself frown deeply. They hadn't yet filled the position. More to the point, they hadn't yet asked her to fill the position. Her eyes shot back to the stout man, still visible as he passed through security, and she felt understanding dawn upon her.

It was late in the day when she finally seized her chance and climbed the stairs to Tony's office. Hammond had returned to Division, and the bullpen was winding down for the afternoon. She knocked once, entered and closed the door firmly behind her. Tony looked up at her, his face impassive, and she stood before him. His eyes roamed her freely for a moment, and she straightened her spine, feeling acutely aware of the fact that his eyes had once roamed her freely in her bedroom, only then she'd been entirely naked.

'Yes?'

'You were interviewing for a position today,' she said. 'Which position was it?'

He examined her closely, and closed the file on his desk.

'Does it matter?'

'It does if the position in question was Chief of Staff. Was it?'

He exhaled slowly and nodded.

'It was,' he said, moving to reopen the file. 'Anything else?'

'Yes,' Michelle said, her voice controlled. 'Is there a reason I wasn't selected for an interview?'

'Have you expressed interest?'

She stared at him for a moment.

'Consider this an expression of interest,' she said, feeling furious and managing to hide it well. 'When may I interview?'

He clawed at his cheek, looking uninterested.

'We've comprised a shortlist,' he said. 'You aren't among the candidates.'

'Excuse me?'

'You aren't among the candidates.'

'And why is that?'

He frowned at her.

'You're not at liberty to ask,' he said. 'And I'm not at liberty to say.'

She crossed her arms, feeling tremendously stung.

'So what now?' she asked, her voice losing its professional edge. 'I just stay at IP level for the rest of my career simply because you found our romp at my place unsatisfactory?'

'Michelle…'

'Tell me that isn't why I'm being denied a chance to interview for a job I've been doing competently for the last seven weeks. Tell me that's not the reason.'

'You aren't among the candidates,' he explained to her, his voice biting. 'And it has nothing to do with that night whatsoever. This was a professional decision, made between myself and Hammond and –'

'A professional decision? I find that hard to believe.'

'And,' he continued as though he hadn't heard her, 'you're expected to accept the decisions made by your superiors, just like everyone else in this office.'

Like everyone else? Michelle knew what that translated to. _Don't start thinking you can speak out of turn just because you made the immense error of sleeping with the boss._

'This is ridiculous. That position is mine,' she said, gazing at him, feeling detestation expand within her. 'You know it is.'

He watched her, his eyes dark.

'You aren't among the candidates, Michelle,' he said, looking unfazed. 'That's the truth.'

She gazed at him for a little while longer, feeling hurt and frustrated and furious. Seven weeks ago they'd been kicking her sheets out of the way and giggling in the dark, warm in each other's arms. They'd been weak from their climaxes, damp with sweat and delirious from exhaustion, but quite unable to sever contact. Now, he wanted nothing further to do with her, and was barring her from a rightful promotion.

She treated herself to a quiet breath and pulled the door open, leaving him with an incensed look and nothing more.

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	26. Chapter 26

An application email to Division was all it took. Sure, it went over Tony's head, but it presented her with the interview she wanted. Hammond seemed genuinely surprised at her interest in the position, and she had a small feeling Tony might have implied she felt otherwise to him around the time he'd comprised his list of alternate candidates.

Once Hammond had been alerted of her wishes to move up, the interview took place the next afternoon. Tony was present, though he seemed to look through her instead of at her, and asked her all the standard questions he would've asked the other applicants. Hammond jumped in with his own queries, and, to her great surprise, he completed the interview with a reference to her recent good work.

She wasn't sure why it shocked her, but being offered the position did. Both Hammond and Chapelle set up a meeting, at which Tony was conspicuously absent, and went through the niceties of the promotion. She'd be pushed up a further two pay grades, assume far greater responsibility, and would be subjected to further training, though she didn't mind at all.

That very afternoon she was able to transfer across to the newly repaired Chief of Staff station, and couldn't help but feel Tony watching her from his own office as she did.

Perhaps even more surprising than the promotion was the knock at her door at half past nine that night. She'd been sipping a glass of wine in lonely celebration of her professional advancement when the thud resonated through her living room. When she opened the door she found Tony standing on her porch, still wearing his dark suit from work, looking as hesitant as he did resolute.

She raised her eyebrows, feeling stunned to see him.

'What are you doing here?'

He didn't quite meet her eye.

'Can I come in?' he asked.

She stared at him.

'No.'

He scratched his face, looking exasperated.

'I want to talk to you.'

'So?'

'So let me in.'

'What if I don't want to talk to you?'

'Look,' he said, glancing around the dimly lit porch where she'd once bit his lip. 'I just want to say some things. That's all.'

Sensing that he wasn't of a mind to give up, she gave him a foul look and walked away from the door, allowing him inside. He closed it behind him, his gaze passing over her couch for several long moments, and then passing over her. She felt mildly self-conscious, standing in a pair of baggy pants and a dark green singlet – her version of pyjamas. Her hair was down too, falling chaotically over her shoulders, and his eyes unashamedly took in the sight. She quickly grabbed the hair tie from around her wrist and swept her curls into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. He didn't comment.

'So?' she said again, folding her arms, feeling wretched to have him back in her place, standing in the same spot where they'd swayed together, embracing wildly. 'What do you have to say?'

He took in a breath, and folded his own arms.

'Turn down the promotion.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Turn it down. Go back to IP level. Or take another job. Or transfer somewhere else. I don't care which.'

Michelle couldn't believe what she was hearing. A wave of hurt crashed over her as his words settled between them. Take another job? Transfer somewhere else? He really didn't care, so long as he didn't have to work with her every day, or even look at her anymore. She wanted to feel nothing at his words, but in truth they sliced at her, and she found she was in agony.

Tony seemed to gleam all this from her face, and rubbed at his forehead.

'I know I'm hurting you,' he said softly. 'And that's not what I want. But I do want you to turn it down.'

'Why are you doing all of this?' she asked him, her voice startlingly honest. She needed to know. She needed to understand why he was breaking her heart. 'Did I do something wrong that night? Something you didn't like?'

He gazed at her for a very long time.

'The position is field certified,' he eventually said.

'Huh?' she asked, leaning forward slightly, thinking she must have misheard him.

'Field certified,' he said, louder this time. 'You have to be field certified to be Chief of Staff.'

'Yes,' she said, frowning. 'I know. I start my training tomorrow afternoon.'

They endured almost ten seconds of total silence.

'You're kidding, right?' she exclaimed, when he said nothing further. '_That's_ what this is? You don't think I should be Chief of Staff because I have to be field certified?'

He said nothing.

'So what?' she continued madly. 'Women can't be field certified now, according to you? That is the most backward thing I've ever heard in my life!'

'If you'll calm down,' he said derisively, 'you'll realise I didn't say anything about women at all. This isn't about women. This is about you.'

'Right,' she said. 'So I can't be field certified because we slept together? That's hardly better.'

He waited patiently for her to finish.

'I can't let this go forward,' he said. 'I can't allow you to become certified.'

'_You're_ certified.'

'That's –'

'Different? How? Because I'm not capable?'

'I think you're as capable as anyone. But I won't have you out in the field, not knowing the things I do about you.'

Michelle opened her mouth to retort, and then fell silent as she comprehended his words. What did he mean? What things?

'Look, you were prepared to sacrifice a lot of things for the Cyprus recording,' he explained to her. 'For national security and international peace. You were willing to lose your job, to lose me, to lose your freedom over it. Sending you out into the field where in all likelihood you'll show the same dedication – where you'll do everything you can for what's right – is insane. People die that way. In fact, people like you…well, they're the people who die first. Please believe me when I say I know this for a fact.'

Michelle stared blankly at him.

'Tell me I don't have a point,' he implored her. 'Sending you out into life threatening situations is as good as killing you. So I'm asking you to turn down the job. Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing if our roles were reversed.'

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, cycling through his statement.

'This is some chivalrous thing,' she murmured, mostly to herself. 'That's why you stopped me from interviewing. That's all it is.'

He shrugged.

'I know it's not my place,' he conceded, 'but I don't care.'

'You're right,' she agreed. 'It's not your place at all. We're not even together…'

'Yeah,' he said, looking penitent. 'About that – '

'Answers?' she asked mockingly. 'Am I about to get answers?'

He glared at her.

'You know,' he said thoughtfully, 'you're really very irritating when you're angry.'

'I could care less,' she quipped.

He looked almost as though he wanted to grin.

'Yeah, I'm aware,' he said. 'Look, I left that morning –'

'Without a word.'

'Christ, will you just let me finish?'

She sighed, retrieved her wine glass and sipped from it, trying to look bored.

'They called me in at three in the morning. You hadn't slept in over thirty-six hours, so I was hardly going to wake you just to say I had to go to work. I planned to ring you at a more civilised hour, but by that point I knew where I was going. What was I supposed to say then, huh? "Morning Michelle, off on a covert operation for an unknown amount of time with Kingsley's people. Chapelle found a way in and I had to take it. Jack's still recovering and everyone else is dead, so it's me. I might die. I also might not. Try to have a good day."

Michelle spluttered slightly over her wine.

'That's what you were doing? You were in with Kingsley's crew? Are there more people behind him?'

'Well, that was the point of the operation,' he said stoically. 'To ascertain the depth of the conspiracy.'

'Did you?'

He shrugged.

'It was mostly intel gathering. The leads are being worked up now.'

'Intel gathering?' she probed. 'The dangerous kind or…?'

He shrugged once more.

'Every operation has its risks,' he answered evasively. Michelle knew right away that the operation had been considerably dangerous and he simply didn't want to tell her. 'But that made me realise how stupid we are for starting something between us.'

'It did?'

'Things like this happen all the time,' he told her. 'Being called in at three in the morning for an operation, one I might not return from, can happen frequently. Not knowing how to tell you, or if I even should, will happen all the time. So will having to work out if you have the clearance required to know why I'm gone, and hating myself when I realise you don't. And now, if you continue on with this promotion, it'll be you in the field, and you won't know how to tell me, or how to make me feel at ease, and I'll hate you for going, and you'll hate me for trying to stop you from doing your job.'

He drew in a tormented breath.

'CTU isn't the place for relationships. That's been made clear to me many times, and yet we just had dinner and rolled into bed together as though I'd forgotten all the things I knew. Spending time with Kingsley's men…well, that just served to remind me of how stupid it was. It reminded me of how badly we could hurt each other, just because of our jobs. That's why I broke it off.'

He looked up at her, searching her face. She placed her glass down and ran a hand over her knotty hair.

'You broke it off because of an operation?' she said. 'Because you think we'll hurt each other that way? Why…why didn't you just say that?'

'I broke it off because I'm in love with you,' he said. 'But I was hardly going to use that as the reason.'

They locked eyes for nearly five full seconds and in that time Michelle felt all the despair and insecurity of the past weeks leave her. In love with her? Had he really said that?

'You…you think I'm not in love with you too?' she asked him candidly.

His face went blank.

'You are?'

She nodded once, unable to resist rolling her eyes at him as she did.

'You should've said something that morning,' she said tiredly. 'Just something, instead of making me wonder for so long.'

'Yeah, I do know that, thanks,' he said shortly.

She looked up at him, blinking as though she'd just stepped out into the morning sun.

'So, are you here to make up with me?' she asked shrewdly.

'No,' he said. 'No. I won't be in a relationship with you if you're field certified.'

'You won't be in a relationship with me,' she said slowly, 'but it's alright to be in love with me?'

He didn't answer. She watched him closely. He looked very tired.

'I'm not turning down the promotion,' she informed him. 'So then where does that leave us? We just go to work every day, in love but pretending we're not? We just function around each other, ignoring what we want until one of us finds someone new?'

His face turned stony at that.

'Turn down the promotion,' he said quietly, 'and we can be together.'

'That's a sick ultimatum,' she said, interested by the fact that both their voices were calm – gentle, even. 'And you should feel ashamed for offering it to me.'

'I do,' he said. 'Trust me, I do.'

'Tony…'

'I should go. I just…I wanted to explain myself. Like I said, I don't want to hurt you.'

'You have already.'

He nodded, dejection etched across his face.

'Yeah, I know. Look, I'll see you tomorrow, alright?'

She nodded too, suddenly craving his embrace.

'Tony?' she stopped him on his way to the door. He looked back. 'Get some sleep, okay?'

'Yeah,' he said, his eyes racing across her as she freed her curls from the hair tie – a parting gift to him. 'Yeah, you too.'

'Night.'

His expression was hard and his smile obligatory, as though it pained him either to look at her or leave her. She suspected it was both.

'Night.'

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	27. Chapter 27

It was late Friday night when Michelle returned to CTU. The night shift lackeys were pottering around, drinking their hourly cups of coffee, and paid her no attention at all. She'd come back to the office after field training to send off a string of reports she'd run out of time for that morning, and headed to her new station, in a world of her own, until she glanced up and saw Tony in his office, hunched over his desk.

She sighed and dropped into her chair, wondering if he usually whiled his evenings away up there alone. Of course, he always had the option of whiling them away with her, but oh no, they couldn't do that. Not when she was a week into becoming a field certified Chief of Staff, and so they continued on with their obstinate game of denial – except that they weren't really in denial at all. They were both fully aware of how the other felt, they simply weren't doing anything about it.

The first day back at work after his unexpected visit to her place had been peculiar to say the least. He'd conducted a briefing in which he announced Michelle's advancement to the rest of the staff, and had carried on as though nothing else had changed. They'd teamed up for a video conference with the Washington branch, investigated a bomb threat which turned out to be nothing more than inane college humour, and had discussed the trial of a new program Division had ordered them to install. It was hard to operate efficiently around him, harder still to push the fact that he loved her from her mind when they were in a room together. He, on the other hand, seemed to have no real trouble with the façade, and it made her wonder if he hadn't been in love with her for quite a long while. He certainly seemed expert at hiding it.

He watched her as usual, especially when she left at noon to report for training, his eyes following her disapprovingly as she exited the bullpen. Then, they commenced the entire preposterous procedure all over again the very next day. A week of this ensued, and Michelle realised very quickly that it couldn't go on. It was lunacy. She wanted him. She missed him. She desired him. She was becoming increasingly exasperated with his need to keep her at a distance, despite the logic he applied to the matter, and so, as soon as she'd sent off her reports, she climbed the stairs to his office.

He looked up when she entered, apparently surprised to see her back, and his eyes dipped from her face down to her feet and up again, taking in the training gear she hadn't bothered to change out of.

'Hi,' he said, his brow creasing as she closed the door. 'Uh…what are you doing back here?'

'Had some things to send off,' she told him, slowly coming to sit in the vacant chair at his desk, directly across from him. He watched her as she stretched out right before his eyes and crossed one leg over the other, looking comfortable. He observed her hand closely as it travelled up to play with the curl by her ear. He immediately raised an eyebrow.

'What are you doing?'

'What?' she asked innocently.

He gave her a deeply unimpressed look.

'What are you doing, Michelle?'

'Oh,' she said in mock realisation, looking down at the chair she was occupying and the alluring position of her limbs. 'I'm punishing you with my presence and proximity.'

He stared at her for a moment, and she gazed back.

'For what?' he asked.

'For being an idiot,' she said easily.

He refocused his attention to his laptop, obviously finished with the exchange. She considered him for a moment. He really did look very tired.

'Training was good today,' she said, though she knew he was ignoring her. 'I started with firearms. My aim leaves a lot to be desired at the moment, but my instructor sounded optimistic.'

He scribbled something down on a file, acting as though she'd disappeared.

'Hand to hand combat was a little better,' she carried on, unruffled by his lack of attention. 'They pair you up and let you go to town on each other. My back is killing me, but that's to be expected I guess.'

He flicked the page of the file, his eyes dark as they travelled across the new content.

'The protocol is…interesting,' she mused to him. 'The class is held in a lecture theatre, and the teacher reminds me of Grothy if you add on twenty years. We were all given a handbook each. Well, it's more like a slab of concrete. It's a thousand pages long. I haven't actually checked, but it looks like it. Apparently we have to read all of it before we can complete the course, but no one actually does. You just make sure you cover the first five pages of each section. The rest of it is useless.'

He turned back to his laptop, clearing his throat quietly as he worked. She frowned at him for a moment.

'Hmm, what else happened today?' she pondered out loud. 'I passed an accident on the way here. Looked pretty bad. One of the cars was wrapped around a tree.'

Tony remained silent, totally unmoved by her willingness to discuss her day, even the most prosaic parts of it, with him. He continued to act as though she wasn't there.

'Danny called this morning,' she pressed on. 'He said the kids have been asking for me. Elise – that's his ex-wife – doesn't want either of us around though, so I'm not sure what we can do about it.'

He scratched his face and closed the file, only to open another. Michelle chewed her lip.

'You know, I tried the coffee at the new place across the road,' she told him. 'It's pretty good, but they don't put sprinkles on anything, which nearly ruined my morning. Oh, and I have a date tomorrow night.'

'What?'

She looked up from her fingernails, which she'd been absentmindedly cleaning as she spoke to him. He was suddenly staring at her, a harsh glint in his eyes.

'What did you say?' he asked her.

She gave a small triumphant smile.

'So you are listening,' she said softly. 'That's nice to know.'

He glowered at her, his face rigid.

'Who?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Who is the date with?'

'Does it matter?'

He looked as though he dearly wanted to say something, but stopped himself. He then wiped the dismayed look from his face and went back to his laptop, seeming incredibly unconcerned once more.

'No,' he said without looking at her. 'No, it doesn't matter.'

'Tony,' she murmured after several tense seconds.

'What?' he asked, his face still buried in his work.

'I was joking.'

He nodded, as though he'd known all along and hadn't wanted to spoil her fun.

'This isn't working for me,' she told him. 'This is stupid, and distracting, and it's making me unhappy.'

He took in a slow breath and rubbed at his forehead.

'Tony?' she said.

He looked up.

'It's making me unhappy,' she reiterated to him, their eyes meeting across his desk.

'Yeah,' he said finally, dropping his pen and sitting back in his chair. 'You know, before I met you all I had was this job. I had nothing to worry about. Nothing really to lose. It…well, it was great,' he admitted, speaking through his locked jaw. 'I was free. And then, in the space of a couple of hours you became the most important thing in my life. The only thing, really. Now I have everything to lose. Do you understand that?'

She dropped her gaze, feeling bizarrely warm, as though the thermostat had been cranked up thirty degrees. The most important thing? The only thing? It was almost as though he knew exactly what to say to her. He was speaking as though he knew every diminutive detail of her past, when in reality he knew nearly nothing, and acting as though it was his job, his right, to tend to each and every negative aspect of it. The things he said repaired her, and he didn't even know it. She could feel his words, even now, rippling through her and mining out every painful memory, every frustration, every last lonely moment she'd ever experienced.

'Can you cook?' she asked suddenly.

He frowned at her. He had not been expecting this question.

'Cook?'

'Cook, yes.'

'I…yeah, I can cook,' he said cagily, his eyes narrowed.

'I'd like you to make me dinner tomorrow night,' she told him, before tacking on a quiet 'Please.'

He crossed his arms.

'You'd like that, would you?'

She ignored him. After so many weeks of confusion, it really was the least he could do.

'I want to discuss some things with you, and I don't feel like doing it here, or at another bad restaurant.'

He shook his head at that.

'I don't want you in my apartment, Michelle,' he said gruffly. 'That's…not a good idea.'

'I'll be over at eight,' she said. 'Does that suit you?'

They held each other's gazes, and she took a moment to wonder if he'd really turn her away.

'Yeah,' he eventually said, his voice resigned. 'Fine.'

''Kay. See you tomorrow.'

She smiled at him then and left his office, his eyes on her until she passed through the doors and turned out of sight.

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	28. Chapter 28

'It's open.'

Michelle pushed through the door at eight o'clock, giving the place a curious once over as she did. Tony watched her from his kitchen, interested to see her eyes zip around his home before she even acknowledged him.

'Your place is nicer,' he said as she prowled the perimeter of his living room, fingering things as she went.

'Yours is roomier,' she murmured, her eyes roving across a bookshelf stuffed with manuals and software. No fiction whatsoever. She looked at him.

'Hi.'

He tried not to smile.

'Hey.'

His eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance.

'Your hair isn't down,' he said.

She turned to face him.

'No,' she agreed. 'Were you expecting it down?'

He shrugged.

'It seemed like the sort of thing you'd do.'

'Really?'

He shrugged again and turned back to the stove top.

'To torment me, yeah.'

She wandered into the kitchen.

'You'd deserve it.'

He dropped some pasta into a boiling pot of water.

'I know.'

He turned back to her and looked her over once more. Jeans, a top, a cardigan. Incredibly casual, just like his own clothing. He wasn't quite used to seeing her without a black skirt on. It still felt strangely mischievous, as though they were doing something they shouldn't be by merely looking at each other beyond the confines of the bullpen.

'You allergic to anything?' he asked her as he began to chop a clove of garlic.

She shook her head, leaning comfortably against the counter to watch him.

'So…uh, what are these things you wanted to discuss?' he asked, after several awkward moments of silence between them. 'And that's it then,' he added quickly, casting her a dark, sidelong look. 'We're talking, we're eating, then you're leaving. Alright?'

'Cold,' she said. 'But alright.'

He looked at her.

'You sound like you don't believe me.'

She raised a shoulder, looking unconcerned.

'We'll talk first,' she told him. 'Then we'll see how the rest of the night goes.'

'Michelle…'

'You know I'm not Nina, right?'

He glared at her.

'That's not what this is about. At all.'

'I know that,' she assured him. 'I know it's not the same thing. Still though…'

'Nina was someone I dated,' he explained calmly. 'My feelings toward her weren't of a particularly significant nature. Her betrayal shocked me, and it changed me, but that's not why I don't want to be in a relationship with you.'

'You always say that,' she said critically. '"I don't want to be in a relationship with you." So let's not be in a relationship. You know, I just want to date. That's all. I just want to hang out. Nothing more than that.'

'Putting a different label on it isn't going to change how I feel.'

'Nor will it change how I feel,' she shot back. 'I thought it might make things easier for you though.'

'You think this is funny, don't you?' he said, his voice suddenly furious. He put down the knife and forgot about the food for a moment. 'You crack jokes and make light of it and come into my office and talk about field training as though I actually want to hear it. I don't, for the record.'

'I think you should, though,' she said, her voice just as severe. 'I think you should hear it. I'm being trained by some of the best field agents there are, and I'm improving every day. You think I should keep that from you?'

'Good training won't save your life,' he said. 'It'll help, but at the end of the day it won't magically alter the course of a bullet. It won't stop it from being shot into your skull, or your chest or anywhere else and it won't stop a bomb from killing you.'

'You do realise the likelihood of being sent out into the field is very low,' she reminded him mordantly. 'A Chief of Staff stays in the office. The field certified thing is a precaution – a formality – more than anything else. I won't be sent out every week, or every month, or even every year. Only if it's necessary and if there are no other options. You know all this. So why are you going crazy over it?'

He stuck a pan on the stove and dropped the garlic in to sizzle away. He drew an onion toward him and started slicing into it.

'Michelle,' he said, his voice strangely heavy. 'If I lost you now, I'd get over it.'

She frowned deeply, watching him.

'You'd get over it?' she repeated, not following.

'I'm being honest with you now,' he told her, as though she'd said nothing. 'If something happened to you, I'd probably come back from it. It'd take a long time, but life would eventually go on. If we go any further here…if we start "hanging out" as you put it…if we fall in any deeper I don't think I would get over it. Honestly, I don't.'

He chucked the onion in with the garlic and turned to her.

'You want to know why I left without saying anything? Why I let you wonder for six weeks? Why I called you up into my office and acted like a bastard?'

'"Bastard" is right,' she murmured. He ignored her.

'You haven't taken a moment to put yourself in my place,' he said. 'Right now, things are exciting from where you stand. You've been promoted, you're being trained, you're taking on more responsibility, and I get that. Professional development feels good, and you're serving your country, and you're happy with it all. It's all good stuff. But for me? You don't know how it feels from where I stand.'

'Tony…'

'You think I just got cold feet or something,' he said, tipping mushrooms and cream and the perfectly cooked pasta in the pan and tossing it furiously. 'You think we slept together and I started thinking about Nina and that's why it all went to shit. You don't get it at all.'

'Well, I'm trying,' she said honestly. 'I'm trying to make sense of what happened. I'm trying to make you understand that this is worth it.'

'Worth what though?' he asked, looking interested. 'Worth losing you, even?'

'Who says I'm going to die?' she asked, her voice escalating. 'You're talking like it's a certainty. Who says you're not the one who's going to choke out there?'

'Maybe it will be,' he said reasonably. 'It could have happened while I was with Kingsley's people. Where would that have left you, huh? I'd have been killed without saying goodbye, without telling you how I feel, and you'd have gone on hating me because you thought I just ran out on you. Nothing would've been explained. Hell, you wouldn't even have known how I died!'

'All of that would've been your fault!' she hissed. 'Not mine. I woke up and looked for you. I woke up and worried about you.'

She stopped herself then, dangerously close to allowing the pain of those weeks without him to come forth.

'Do you know how many funerals I went to alone?' she asked him. 'Thirty. And that disgusting service for George. You know Prescott was there? Prescott! I nearly lost my job and my freedom trying to get him to see sense and he just strolls into the service, as though he's ever given a crap about anyone but himself, and I had to stand in that room with him for an hour and a half. And things at work were crazy with you gone, and Hammond was breathing down my neck, and all the while I'm wasting time wondering if you didn't actually hate that I bit your lip, and if you didn't just sleep with me because leaving would've been too awkward. I wondered if running off for six weeks was just your way of telling me our night together was disastrously bad and that you just wanted it over.'

She crossed her arms defensively.

'I'm investigating terrorist threats and going to funerals and _that's_ what I'm thinking about. I came really close to despising you.'

He watched her, his eyes coasting across her as though searching for something.

'So then what are you still doing here, huh?' he asked her softly.

The truth was he didn't know. He'd hurt her badly. He'd toyed with her, and she didn't deserve it, and she was still here, coming into his home and demanding dinner. He'd wondered if she'd ever speak to him again, and though it would've made keeping her at a distance a lot easier, he'd been terrified of the prospect.

She shrugged, her eyes shiny from the misery of the six weeks alone.

'Because…I don't know,' she said, looking lost. She bit her trembling bottom lip.

'Michelle…' he tried to stop himself from reaching out and taking her arm, but he couldn't resist her in this state, especially when he was to blame for it.

'I…I know I'd rather have something to lose than nothing,' she told him quietly. 'I want it to be you.'

His hand moved from her arm to her shoulder, and eventually up to cup her face. He knew he shouldn't touch her. He knew it was dangerous, but he found he couldn't hold back from her. Not when she said things like that.

'Dinner's ready,' he murmured, the strong smell from the pan wafting over them. He took her to the table, perfectly laid out, and held a chair out for her. He stayed close to her for a moment, feeling undone by her words, and let his hands fall to her shoulders.

'We'll talk some more after we eat, alright?'

He heard her give a quiet teasing laugh.

'We're not talking. We're fighting,' she said, watching him load two plates with his delicious smelling pasta. 'And I thought you were kicking me out after dinner.'

'Yeah, well, we're gonna fight some more,' he said adamantly. 'But _then_ I'm kicking you out.'

* * *

><p><em>reviews are…well, you know x<em>


	29. Chapter 29

'This…this is very good,' Michelle said, looking down at her plate as though confused. She scraped the last piece of pasta from the china surface, paired it with the last remaining mushroom and ate the delectable combination reluctantly, disappointed to have finished the meal.

'You were expecting it to be bad?' he asked her.

'No,' she said, setting down her fork. 'No…but you cook well. Really well.'

He continued to observe her expression, part way between gleeful and guilty.

'Okay,' he said slowly, wondering if he was missing something. 'Uh…do you cook?'

'Oh yeah,' she lied effortlessly. 'A bit, you know. This and that.'

She wondered how long it would take for her woeful lack of culinary aptitude to become apparent, and the various ways in which she hoped he would one day find out. Until then, they could skirt around the fact. She pushed her plate away and looked up in time to see him do the same. Dinner was over. He watched her for a long moment. Clearly, it was her move.

'I don't think this is because of field training. I think this is because of that day,' she said, resting her elbows on the table. 'Because of the bomb and the nuke and the Cyprus recording and…you know, what nearly happened to both of us.'

'Michelle, that's not –

'Did it scare you?' she interrupted him calmly.

He leaned back and crossed his arms, looking caught out.

'Of course it scared me,' he said angrily, not even bothering to deny it. 'It was just one day. So much could have happened – so much _nearly_ happened – and it was just one day.'

'It hit me much later than it hit you.'

He had his mouth open to respond, but no words came out. She blinked, taking in his sudden curiosity.

'What do you mean "hit me"?' he demanded.

She shrugged.

'You wouldn't have left me,' she said. 'Not after that night. Even if it wasn't great for you, you still wouldn't have –'

'Let's get something straight right now,' he stopped her. 'That night _was_ great for me. Got it?'

She watched him, looking unconvinced.

'Alright,' she finally said, her cheeks slightly pink. 'Well…it was great for me too.'

His mouth curled slightly.

'Yeah, I got that.'

She gave him an unimpressed look. He smirked.

'It hit me after George's service,' she preserved, ignoring his smugness entirely. 'Almost as soon as I got home.'

'What did?'

She shrugged again, looking melancholy and jaded and so many other things he wanted gone from her face forever.

'Everything,' she told him. 'We nearly went to jail. We nearly to war. Work was bombed. Thirty of our friends died. I don't know why I thought I'd be able to continue on after it without any side effects, without properly grieving, or comprehending how close we came to losing everything.'

He frowned at the table for a very long time, absentmindedly toying with his fork.

'We did,' he said grimly. 'We came so close.'

She shook her head.

'No, you don't understand. You see…just after the bomb hit I found a man on the ground, in dark clothes, with dark hair. He was buried under some rubble – I couldn't see him properly. He was dead. I thought it was you.'

He gazed at her, listening closely.

'You thought it was me…'

She nodded.

'For a couple of seconds you were dead. To me you were. And I nearly lost control of myself because I hadn't told you that I wanted you. We hadn't even kissed. And you were gone.'

'Michelle…' he murmured. He reached forward, and covered her hand with his own. She pulled away slowly, needing to put a little space between them.

'All of that, all those terrible things…they struck me when I got home that evening after George's and I…I broke down. I was missing you too,' she didn't mind telling him. 'And I was angry at you. I'm sure it didn't help.'

'You broke down?' he asked.

She nodded, feeling she'd rather not go into detail, but knowing it was important nonetheless for him to hear.

'It was messy,' she admitted quietly, a sad smile at her lips. 'I felt pretty…bleak, I guess. I felt like I'd never be more than what I was at that moment: more or less devastated.' She looked pointedly at him. 'I wanted to reject everything – all the good things – until there was nothing left to hurt me.'

His gaze, glaring furiously down at the table, intensified at her words. He shook his head then, his face weighed down with grief.

'You were asleep,' he recounted, his voice ice cold. 'Your hair was everywhere and your arms were around me. And I woke up and…everything just came at me, you know? I wasn't expecting it. I thought I was fine.'

He looked suddenly resentful, and Michelle knew he'd gone to great lengths to avoid telling her what really happened that night. In fact, he'd hurt her trying to hide it.

'I thought I was fine too,' she said, scratching at the table with her fingernail.

'Paula,' he murmured, his eyes red. 'She was new. She was just a kid.'

He took in a long shuddering breath.

'And George…I accused him of trying to save himself…and then he saved everyone.'

She bit her lip, moved beyond measure to see such emotion in his face.

'And then us,' he said, shrugging unhappily. 'We weren't even listening to each other, or working together. And then we kissed and I…all our friends were dead, and we were there, in the corridor, kissing. It thrilled me…and our colleagues had died a couple of hours before. It felt –'

'Like we did something wrong?'

'It felt disgraceful,' he said honestly. 'Well, it did that night. And then we went out for dinner and made love and we were lying in bed and I was happy…but what right do either of us have to that? How could we just go on like that…as though nothing had happened…'

'It was a bit soon,' she agreed quietly, glad they were finally discussing what was really bothering him. 'It was great, but it wasn't the best idea for either of us.'

'And I offered to the take the fall for everything,' he sighed, shaking his head. 'I don't have a self-sacrificing bone in my body but we were in that holding room and I just told you to play dumb so you could get off…and so everything would fall to me. What possessed me to do something so insane?'

Their eyes met for a moment, and he found tears to mirror his own. He cleared his throat quickly, shoving his emotion away.

'I almost destroyed my life,' he told her, 'and it would've been for you. Making those kinds of ridiculous gestures…that's why these relationships are a bad idea. They drive you to do stupid things. Crazy things.'

He trailed off, scratching at his face, his eyes avoiding her.

'So yeah, it hit me that night,' he said, jerking his shoulders defensively. 'Getting the call from Chapelle was a relief, because it meant I could leave you. I didn't want to stay. I couldn't. Not when you seemed fine, when you seemed happy with everything. I felt destroyed…I felt like I couldn't be in the same room with you, with anyone, really. I'm sorry,' he told her quickly, 'but it's true.'

She nodded. She didn't take offense at his words. In fact, she'd felt exactly the same way after George's service, and for the first time felt nothing but grateful for the fact that Tony had disappeared and left her alone.

'And this field thing,' he muttered. 'You go off and get yourself a promotion where you'll become field certified. What am I meant to do with that, huh? Say "congratulations"? Ask you about training? Like I said, I had nothing to worry about before you...'

She suddenly pushed her chair out and got to her feet, Tony's eyes following her every move. He stood too, watching her warily.

'When George's condition was worsening,' she said, her voice businesslike, 'I went up to this office to speak to him. While I was there, I told him how sorry I was for what was happening to him. He brushed my sympathy aside, of course, and he told me some interesting things instead. Did you know he once wanted to be a teacher?'

Tony frowned deeply.

'No,' he said.

'Neither did I,' she informed him. 'And he chose instead to work for the government because it offered him more money. Not a lot more, of course, but enough for him to turn away from what he wanted. He had regrets, and he'd made mistakes, but he was dying and he wanted to urge me to do one thing. He told me to find something that made me happy.'

Michelle took her bag from where she'd left it on the ground and slung it over her shoulder.

'I left his office and I asked you out the next chance I got,' she said. She gave him just enough time to process her admission before continuing on. 'This job might wear us down each day…but I want us to be able to build each other back up at night. I want to do this with you, not without you, and certainly not alone. That's all I really wanted to tell you tonight. I'm not going to keep trying to make you see sense, and I'm not going to wait forever. It's…well, it's up to you.'

She turned from him then and made to leave. He rounded the table in an instant and caught her. Feeling his hand shoot out to wrap around her wrist startled her. Feeling him spin her round and press her hard against the door electrified her, and feeling his lips greet hers with enough force to bruise them caused her to tremble in his arms.

'"Find something that makes you happy?"' he muttered into her mouth, looking shocked and touched and distressed all at once. 'He said that? And you asked me out?'

She only had time to nod her confirmation before he kissed her once more. She let his lips roughly devour hers; let his tongue in to sweep around her mouth, tasting her greedily. She let his hands creep up to hold her face and let his body surge against her, pinning her inescapably between himself and the door. Her heart thudded furiously against him as he kissed her, and she moaned softly, needing to feel him again after so long apart…but then, that was his fault. It was his decision to leave her hanging…to leave her missing him…

'Don't,' she said quickly, tugging her lips from his and pushing him away with all her strength. He didn't move, holding her firmly, his lips moving against her cheek. 'Don't, Tony. I can't…you can't do this if you're just going to hurt me again…'

He exhaled at her words, at the quiet sob caught in her throat, and felt his heart deflate in his chest. He couldn't watch her like this, couldn't see the wounds he'd inflicted etched across her face. He loved her, had always loved her. Didn't she know he only wanted to protect her? To protect himself? To keep them both safe? Didn't she know how it would destroy him if anything ever happened to her? He ignored her hands as they shoved at his chest, and he kissed her deeply once more. Happy…together they could be happy…

'I'm sorry,' he broke away suddenly to mumble into her cheek, holding her tight, his voice thick and his breath hot on her skin. 'Michelle I'm…baby, I'm so sorry.'

He said it again and again as he kissed her, and she slowly started to respond, sliding her fingers into his hair and holding him close.

'I can't lose you like we lost everyone else,' he told her, his voice a desperately honest whisper, the sentence punctuated with kisses to her top lip. 'But I can't lose you this way either.'

'What are you saying?' she asked, frustration in her voice as she licked the taste of him from her lips, her body already aching for him. 'You want to do this with me too?'

He nodded, his gaze dark, his face deeply remorseful, full of raw and unrestrained emotion. 'I've always wanted this. I…I can't fight this anymore. I don't want to. Please baby,' he implored her fearfully, 'please be mine.'

He rumbled the request into her neck, where he'd been capturing bits of her skin in his mouth and sucking gently. 'I hurt you. I know. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me, Michelle.'

He watched her, his eyes zipping across her face, searching for a sign, something – anything – to indicate that he hadn't ruined the thing he wanted most in the world.

'You're gonna be paying for this for a long time to come,' she eventually murmured.

He felt the world stop spinning around him and they came together and kissed longingly, hands tangled in each other's hair, sealing the moment tenderly. Michelle felt him breathe shakily against her, as though he'd finally let go of his doubts and qualms and succumbed to what felt like the most obvious thing in the world. They were meant to be together.

He hugged her tightly and she felt all his need in his embrace, all his desire in his kiss, all his love for her in his words.

'You can't leave me again,' she mumbled angrily, her own fears erupting, kissing his face as he kissed hers. 'You can't hurt me like that. I…I want you. I love you.'

His hands tightened on her waist, his thumbs under her top, stroking her flesh gently. He kissed her mouth and her nose and her eyes, adoring each and every tiny part of her. She sighed against him, revelling in him, all over her, covering her completely. He didn't want to fight against them anymore, and she'd stopped fighting long ago.

'Six weeks without you,' she told him, her lips nipping at his chin, tears stinging her eyes. 'I needed to know you were okay. You can't run off on me. You can't disappear and not tell me.'

Again he apologised, his voice urgently sincere, repeating the sentiment in varying ways as he ravaged her collarbone. No matter how many times he said to her, he knew it would never be enough.

'I know,' he told her. 'Never again. I…give me another chance. Give me another chance, baby.'

He pulled back to look deep into her eyes, and she gazed back at him.

'I missed you,' she breathed, her fingers grazing his neck. 'I couldn't stop thinking about you. But I hated you too.'

He nodded.

'I know,' he said, his voice tortured as he nibbling her jaw.

'Don't ever make me feel that way again,' she said warningly. She felt his hold on her strengthen.

'No,' he said, their foreheads touching tenderly. 'I only want to make you feel good. You have to know that. I want you to be safe. I want to give you the things you want.'

'So do it.'

'Huh?'

'Give me what I want. Tonight. Now. Show me I can trust you. I've...Tony, I've missed you.'

'I miss you so much, sweetheart. Every day,' he told her, his hands running up and down her arms as he dropped soft kisses upon her shoulder. 'It was killing me. I haven't been happy without you. I haven't been anything without you.'

They kissed ferociously, their lips wrestling, their tongues duelling heatedly.

'You've got to stop hounding me about field training,' she urged him, breaking away, feeling overcome. 'I'm doing it no matter what. You have to be alright with that.'

He pressed harder against her, his fingers digging into her hips.

'I'll never be alright with it,' he told her harshly. 'Don't ever expect me to be alright with it.'

She held his face between her hands, their eyes meeting. She kissed him tenderly.

'I know,' she murmured against his lips. 'I know. No one's ever worried about me the way you do.'

'No one's ever loved you the way I do,' he told her, as though this the most obvious thing in the world

She stared at him for a very long time.

'You're right,' she finally said, her hands on his chest, gripping him to her. 'You love me enough to give me crazy ultimatums, and make me dinner even when you don't want to, and go prison for me. And no one's ever loved you like I do.'

'Yeah?' he asked her, biting lightly at her thumb as it passed over his lips, feeling shocked at the joy coursing through him at her words.

'Mmhmm,' she told him, moving her leg between his, feeling him straining through his jeans, already so hard for her. 'You have to let me talk to you about it, alright? I want to tell you about this stuff. I want to tell you everything.'

He struggled with himself for a moment.

'No, Michelle.'

She jerked her head back when he tried to seize her lips again, looking at him threateningly.

'Fine,' he spat, looking annoyed. 'Fine! But…but I'm not gonna like it.'

'I know,' she purred, fingers running through his hair. 'I don't care though. In fact, that might make it more fun.'

He gave her a grumpy half smile, and kissed her gently.

'I know what I did was bad, Michelle,' he said seriously. 'I shouldn't have left you.'

'No, you shouldn't have,' she agreed. He held her closer.

'I kissed you,' he said. 'For what that's worth, I kissed you before I went. You kinda shoved me away and mumbled something.'

'Cry me a river,' she taunted, though she felt warmed by his confession. He gripped her chin between his fingers.

'Don't leave me tonight,' he asked her. 'I have no right to ask, but…stay. Please.'

'Changed your tune, I see,' she mocked him.

'Stay,' he simply urged her. 'Hell, stay forever. Please.'

He thumbed at a single tear as it made its escape down her cheek. He kissed the moisture away.

'If you make it worth my while, then perhaps,' she told him.

He raked his eyes over her as she leaned back, her face sensual and suddenly flirty.

'I'm gonna make it worth your while for as long as you let me,' he breathed into her hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck. 'I love you.'

'I know,' she told him, gasping slightly when he picked her up in his arms and took her to his bedroom. 'I love you so much.'

Her blood boiled in her veins and her chest expanded and contracted with each heavy breath as he held her. God, she wanted him. She could feel it in every inch of her body. His eyes had gone all dark, just the way she loved, and he was gazing at her as though she was dessert – something sweet and delicious for him to consume. He tugged the tie from her hair and watched her curls bounce out, free and beautiful. He slowly stripped her of her clothes, garment by agonising garment, and then allowed her to drag his shirt from his body. Together they wrestled his jeans from him, and his boxers, and stood together, entirely naked and cuddling innocently until he gave her a searing needy kiss and placed her up on his set of drawers, their faces level. She couldn't resist a glance down to admire him, standing at attention, thick and beautiful. Just for her. He caught her face in his hands and brought it back to meet his.

'All in good time,' he murmured.

'No,' she disagreed. 'We're not going slow tonight. I…I want you too much for that.'

He appraised her for a long moment, his fingers caressing her jaw.

'Okay,' he said, almost afraid of how insane things might be if they really let go. 'Alright.'

He watched her eyelids close as he assaulted her neck with his lips, and felt her hands claw at his chest, moaning in a way that made him instantly swell in size.

'Say it, baby,' he urged her, sensing her need and ignoring his own. 'Say it and you can have it. Anything.'

She sucked in a breath, and he kissed her face over and over again until she spoke.

'Your fingers,' she whispered throatily, her voice strained as her perfect hands caressed his skin and flicked over his nipples. 'I want…I want your fingers inside me.'

He pressed his hand to her core, snaking through her arousal, and he listened to her groan as he inserted two fingers within her. She jerked against him, impaled on him, and he bit at her lips, curling his fingers against her soft wet walls as he did. She bucked and he held her firm, his thumb free to come up and become reacquainted with the place he knew would drive her crazy. He pumped his fingers and swirled around her nub and kissed her fiercely, loving the feel of her hands gripping him, digging desperately into his skin as he brought her closer to orgasm.

'You gonna come, Michelle?' he coaxed her. 'You know you blush right before you come? Look at me baby…let me see you…'

His words seemed to drive her to the edge, and a final curl of his fingers seemed to throw her over it. She yelled his name again and again, doing as he asked and looking at him until she collapsed in his arms, trembling in his embrace.

'Good, baby,' he praised her affectionately while her rasping breaths subsided, as though she'd done something wonderful. 'Did that feel good? You want more? Hey? You gotta tell me.'

'Tony,' she murmured, lifting her head. He caught sight of her bright eyes and her flushed cheeks and kissed her, unable to control himself. She slid off the drawers, her legs shaky, and he held her tightly.

'What, baby?' he asked her. 'What do you want?'

'Shhh,' she said, taking his hand and drawing him to his bed. She pushed him down against his pillows, and he watched her, delighted with her desire to take control. She took his length between her hands and worked them up and down, meeting his eyes as she did. He flung his head back and breathed in deeply, unable to watch for fear that it might cause him to explode. Then, the sensation changed drastically – and for the better – and he looked down to find her curls spilling out across his thighs and abdomen, and to see her gorgeous lips wrapped around him.

Automatically, his hand went out to touch her face as she pleasured him, her tongue swirling playfully, and the other burrowed into her hair.

'Michelle,' he said coarsely, his stomach tense, his legs rigid. 'Fuck, baby, you can't…you…'

'Mmm?' she asked him, too busy tasting him to form real words.

'This…this is dangerous,' he croaked, his fingers tickling her neck. He heard her giggle, and felt himself fall from the hollow warmth of her mouth. Suddenly, she was astride him, her hands on his chest to steady herself, her breasts in full view.

'You could've had all this,' she teased him gently, taking him, still wet from her lips, in her hand and lowering herself down around him. He groaned urgently at the feel and sight of himself buried inside her, and his hands went up to cup her breasts, his fingers toying with her taut nipples. 'You could've had it all weeks ago…months ago really…'

'Michelle,' he strained against her. 'This…this is not what I had in mind…I wanted to make it up to you…wanted to – to…

'To be in control?' she whispered, seated snugly around him, tight and hot and wet. She licked her lips. 'I want to show you that I love you…I want to make you aware of what you almost lost…'

She smiled devilishly at him, and he felt like he'd been concussed.

'Michelle,' he mumbled, holding her hips tightly. She started to move, and his head pressed back against the pillows. 'You gonna ride me, huh baby?' He asked her, trying to thrust against her torturous movements. He felt her squeeze around him, and he nearly lost control.

'Christ Michelle,' he snarled at her, holding her tight. 'Don't do that.'

'What?' she asked breathlessly, looking confused – though he knew better. 'This?'

She contracted around him again, and he almost whimpered.

'Come here,' he growled, fearing she might go for a third time. 'And for christ's sake, stop being…stop being…'

'Naughty?' she asked him, laughing as he flipped them so he could hunker down over her. 'I've wanted to be naughty with you for a very long time. You've been off being protective and surly and silly…and I've just wanted to be naughty with you…'

He glared down at her, feeling stunned by her sexiness.

'You're bad,' he told her, picking up a intense rhythm and loving the way her mouth parted with pleasure as he did. She held his neck in one hand and raked her nails down his roughened face with the other. 'You're bad for me.'

'How can that be so?' she asked curiously. 'When this feels this good?'

She squeezed around him once more and he let a very primal groan rip from his throat, subsequently letting go of his self-restraint and hammering wildly into her. She moaned into his chest, frantically bringing her hips up to meet his, whispering his name into his skin and holding him dearly.

'You close, Michelle?' he asked her closed eyes huskily. He kissed her forehead several times, unable to do any more without changing the angle - the angle he knew she loved. 'You gonna come for me again? Are you?'

He stroked her thigh, and brought his hand up to tend to her breasts teasingly, caressing one after the other, plucking at her nipples.

'I don't wanna be alone in this,' he told her, increasing his pace. She moaned wildly beneath him, her fingernails leaving marks on his arms. 'Don't wanna be without you for any of it, baby.'

Her fingers come down between them and he felt undone watching her caress herself. This sight was too much for him. Far, far too much, and he finally sunk himself as deep as he could within her, coming furiously, filling her up with his warmth, hardly able to move or breathe as he did. He felt her explode into completion around him, her body seizing in his arms, her muscles tugging feverishly at him as she did.

He fell against her, kissing any and every available patch of skin, and she held him with limp limbs, murmuring unintelligible words of love and lust and tenderness into his ear.

He told her over and over how he loved her, and she repeated it back when she found the strength, kissing him softly, her lips roving against him. Finally, he moved down her body and nuzzled his face between her breasts, wrapping his arms around her waist and lying against her, delirious and exhausted and so very glad she'd barged into his home.

Several minutes passed in silence, and all they could hear was the sound of each other's sated and deeply satisfied breathing. Michelle drew her fingers gently through his hair, soothing him, trying to tell him that it was alright…that everything was going to be alright…that she loved him.

'You're beautiful,' he murmured tiredly sometime later, his lips tickling her skin as they moved. 'I know I've never told you…but you're so beautiful.'

'You didn't think so at first,' she mumbled, her hands caressing his back. He propped his chin up between her breasts, looking at her.

'How'd you know that, huh?'

She gave a small shrug.

'You used to look at my hair…like it wasn't right…like it wasn't normal. That's why I didn't want to show you.'

'Michelle,' he said, crawling up to look down into her face. She gazed back at him, her eyes bright. 'I've never been more attracted to a woman in my whole life…I just didn't understand it…and your hair…baby, your hair is perfect.'

She grinned up at him, and he kissed her cheek fleetingly.

'I know,' she said, and she giggled softly when his hands delved into her curls. He kissed several ringlets, and then kissed her deeply. 'I'm glad you came to your senses.'

He knew she meant her statement in more ways than one, and he pecked her lips once more before starting a slow descent down her body. She squirmed beneath him, and he chuckled before running his tongue over her navel.

'So am I, baby,' he told her, fully intent on making it up to her now, tomorrow and every day to come. 'So am I.'

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><p><em>reviews are opium and so are you x<em>


	30. Chapter 30

_This is the last chapter! Thank you so much for taking the time to review and for all your wonderful PMs. I really appreciate it and thanks so much for reading! Whit xx_

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><p>Michelle watched him awaken slowly, and felt her heart swell as his hands fumbled around for her in his groggy half-asleep state. Upon feeling nothing but tangled sheets beside him, his eyes peeled opened and he cast around blearily, looking both dismayed and furious at her absence, until she stepped out from behind the bedroom door.<p>

'Kidding,' she said quietly, her lips twitching.

He flopped back in bed, his eyes taking in her wonderfully naked state on the other side of the room.

'Very funny,' he said unappreciatively, rubbing his face in the morning sun.

'I thought so,' she said with a coy smile. 'Not such a nice, feeling, hmm?'

'No,' he agreed. 'Not at all.' He looked back over at her. 'Get back in bed. Right now.'

'For a bit,' she said, sauntering back to him, 'but then we're going out.'

'We are?' he asked, dragging her easily into his arms and shifting so that she curled up on his chest.

'Yeah,' she told him, kissing the back of his hand. 'And we need to get flowers.'

The car ride was mostly silent, the radio on down low, and they stood together for a long time at the grocers, gazing down at the floral display, looking for the perfect bunch. They finally settled on a sweet bouquet of violets, overlooking the gaudier arrangements for something humble and pretty, and paid the cashier to wrap them in some paper and matching ribbon.

They drove on, and, upon reaching their destination, Michelle immediately sensed his reluctance to follow her.

'Come on,' she said softly, climbing out of the car and waiting for him. 'We need to do this.'

He stared ahead for a brief moment, and then nodded.

'Yeah,' he said, climbing out. 'Yeah, you're right.'

They wove through the lines of tombstones and the occasional crypt, splitting up to cover more ground, and Tony wasn't far when Michelle's voice made him spin around.

'Tony,' she murmured. 'She's right here.'

He went to join her, his breaths laboured, his heart in his throat, and he gripped the violets so tightly he was surprised the petals didn't fall off.

Paula's headstone looked startlingly new compared to the aged ones surrounding her, small and unimposing. Tony read her name over and over again, chiselled into the stone forever, and he didn't even try to conceal his tears from the woman standing beside him.

Michelle watched him place the flowers delicately upon Paula's grave, and gripped his hand for a moment, communicating to him that she was there for him should he need her. She wandered off slightly, pretending to be interested in the history of the deceased around her, but instead kept a close watch on him, simultaneously concerned and reassured by his grief.

She had said her quiet goodbyes to Paula at the funeral, but Tony had never had the chance, and was doing his best at it now. She didn't hurry him, didn't crowd him, and it was nearly an hour before he joined her at the mossy grave of an old man who'd been dead for sixty years.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she wrapped hers around his waist, and together they left the cemetery, somehow both knowing they wouldn't be back.

'So,' he said, his voice rough as he placed a kiss in her hair. 'You gonna cook for me tonight, huh? It _is_ your turn.'

'Why not?' she said, giving him a squeeze. 'We could both do with a laugh.'

He looked down at her, his eyes confused.

'What do you mean?'

'Nothing,' she told him, swiftly kissing his cheek as they approached the car. 'Nothing at all.'

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><p><em>xox <em>


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